The Unwilling Actress

by Bella Dietrich

  * * *

  The dressing room was the usual madhouse after a performance. Bodices being unlaced and bras put on, slacks replacing voluminous skirts, makeup being slathered away with great gobs of cold cream and the incessant giggling, chattering, and squealing of girls after a dress rehearsal that had gone well. The same furor came from the boy's dressing room.

  Frantically Celia threw on her plaid skirt and silk shirt. Now that it was over she wanted to see Web. The worry about his possible insistence had evaporated during the play somehow. Everything always seemed a long time ago when she came out of the trancelike state of playing a part. She wanted to get out before the inevitable preparations about where to go for hamburgers and who was going to ride in whose car. It was better if they just assumed she'd gone to bed, which she had on occasion.

  Web saw her come rushing around the corner, her long legs twinkling under her short skirt in the angled light of the street lamp. Her beautiful breasts were jiggling from her fast walking and were clearly outlined mounds that tightened his groin. Jesus, she was a beautiful thing! Easy, he cautioned himself. You want to screw her, not marry her.

  She slid into the car beside him, laughing and panting from rushing so. He pulled her against him hard and captured her soft mouth with his before she could do more than utter an unfinished "O..." He kissed her deeply and long, crushing her so hard to his chest he could feel her heart beating wildly. One soft hand touched his face tenderly, the fingertips just grazing his freshly shaved cheek while the other pushed hard against his shoulder to break his hold. She wanted it all right, but she was trying to tell herself that nice girls didn't.

  Celia could feel Web's hard arms holding her in a viselike grip and his mouth bruising her lips, his tongue sunk deeply in her mouth and probing. What was the matter with him? He'd never grabbed her so abruptly and held her so roughly. Her breasts were mashed hard against his chest and his thigh was pressed hotly against hers and a strange warmth was stealing through her though she could hardly breathe. Finally she twisted her head away and gasped, "Web... please... you mustn't... I..."

  "Sorry... Hell, no! I'm not sorry. You looked so damned beautiful coming toward me. I guess I... but I'm not sorry." Just as abruptly, he started the car, turned on the headlights, flipped the radio on, and pulled away from the curb.

  She could still feel her heart pounding in her chest, and she felt both relieved and disappointed that she was not still in his arms. The nervousness had returned tenfold, for if he really got insistent she didn't know what she would do. She'd had to fight boys off before, but they were so easy if you just said something cutting and laughed at them. But Web was a man, not a boy. What would she do?

  She leaned her head back on the seat and tried to make some kind of natural conversation. "It... the play... it went well tonight. Mr. Garrett wants me to try out for him at the Dallas Little Theatre. He used to be a Hollywood director. Isn't that great?"

  "No, it isn't great. It's just that much less time I can see you... and I want to see you more, not less," he grinned.

  "Maybe we've been seeing too much of each other already," she said in her strangely gritty-satin voice.

  "Never," he vowed, steering with his right hand and reaching across with his left to catch her right hand and pull it to his lips. He kissed the palm softly, and she could feel the kisses travel like lightning impulses all the way up her arm. Then with his eyes steady on the road he kissed the fingers solemnly one by one. The insidious warmth was stealing through her again. She knew she should snatch her hand away, but she couldn't.

  "Where are we going to eat?" she inquired as casually as she could with her hand still being kissed and fondled with his lips.

  "Where we can be alone. Where there's nobody but us," he answered. And Celia shivered, not sure if Web was being ominous or not.

  "Do you suppose you could spare my hand for your driving? I mean it's dangerous in this traffic," she said meekly, for the cars were flashing by like streaks and the stoplights on cars ahead were polkadots of red reaching into the distance.

  "Sure, baby." He dropped her hand, only to pull her roughly snug against his hip and thigh. His hands were both on the wheel now, and she was tired. It would be all right.

  * * *

  Celia roused from a deep drowsiness that weighed her down like a mountain of featherbeds. The effort of lifting her own eyes and moving her body seemed too much for her muscles. She could hear Web saying something to her, and the car wasn't running any more. He was standing by her side of the car with the door open and was trying to help her out of the car.

  "Come on, sweetheart. Up we go."

  "Oh... where are we?"

  She blinked her eyes and leaned against him to steady herself. They were parked by a patio with garden chairs and gay umbrella tables. It was pretty dark. With his arm around her he walked her to a big door with a brass doorknob.

  "I don't understand. Where are we? Are we at a restaurant?"

  "No, we're not at a restaurant." His arm tightened around her, and he was opening the door with a key that had a plastic number plate attached to it. "But we are going to eat."

  He pulled her inside a darkened room, closed the door, and flipped a light switch. The large expensively furnished room glowed with a soft light from tall lamps. There was a round walnut table under a bay window with two deep armchairs pulled up to it. A long elaborate shelf and chest and desk arrangement on one wall held a television set. An enormous king-size bed covered sumptuously in blue velvet dominated the room. The drapes and chair coverings were in matching blue velvet. A bad reproduction of The Blue Boy hung over the bed. The thick blue carpet dragged at her heels as she walked a few steps into the room. Why... it was a motel room! How dare Web take her to a motel! Her suspicions were confirmed now!

  She whirled to confront him, suddenly angry and a little frightened. "It's... it's a motel! Whatever gave you the idea you could bring me to a motel..."

  He put his hands on her shoulders and looked at her with his sincere blue eyes, serious behind the glasses.

  "Two reasons... you're hungry and I wanted to be really alone with you. Except for driving someplace in the car we've never been really alone together. Is that so terrible?" He looked at her quizzically and then kissed her quickly.

  "But..."

  "No buts. You come right over here and sit down. Your steak's ready." He maneuvered her across the room and seated her at the round table. Only then did she notice the silver domes covering steak platters. The aroma hit her nostrils. The heavenly aroma of broiled steak. He lifted the dome in front of her with a flourish. Her salivary glands started working furiously at the sight of the rare fillet garnished with buttery mushrooms and broiled tomatoes. She hadn't eaten since breakfast. She never could before a performance, and afterwards she was always famished.

  Suddenly she felt very ashamed. This must have cost Web a great deal of money, and she knew how stringently he budgeted so as to acquire the capital to open his own business. He even lived in a single room and cooked over a hotplate to cut down his living expenses.

  "It's... it's lovely, Web," she smiled up at him uncertainly.

  "Eat your steak, woman. You're starving." She nodded and cut into the beautiful meat. Web opened the champagne and poured. She'd never even tasted it. Waxahachie drank beer, and the closest anybody there got to champagne was looking at the rich beautiful people on a movie screen. He held up his glass in a toast, just as they did in the movies, and his eyes burned into her.

  "All's Well that Ends Well," he toasted her with the title of the play, but his eyes gave it several meanings.

  It was a long leisurely dinner, and Web could see that Celia was completely relaxed and just a little tiddly. The top button of her blouse had slipped loose from the hole, and he could see the creamy rounds of her breasts cleaving together in a "V" of alabaster flesh. He felt his penis leap against the bindings of his shorts and pants. There was something about th
is particular girl that sent him right up the wall. The way her eyes tilted, the way her shining hair swung, the curve of her mouth in that kind of Mona Lisa smile, and that voice that even on the telephone could make his gut tighten. She was both old and wise and young and innocent, naive and worldly, trusting and suspicious. A paradox. He hadn't really figured her yet. All he knew was that he had never waited almost three months to lay a girl. Goodnight kisses were as close as he'd gotten, and he'd never stood for that nonsense from any girl before. He looked up from his glass to watch her mobile, beautiful face and expressive hands pouring out a funny story about the actors she worked with. Her whole body leaned toward him. It was as though she put her whole self into everything... even telling a funny story. She gave. Well, he wanted all she could give. Now.

  He stood up and walked the step to her chair and lifted her to her feet. Her big eyes looked at him, wide and uncertain, and the words of her story died on her lips. He pulled her to him and bent his mouth to kiss her hungrily. She kissed him back and then tried to pull away. He crushed her to him even closer, and he could feel the delicious sensation of her big beautiful breasts mashed against his hard chest and the "V" of her legs joining and the little mound of Venus under her skirt. One hand slid down to cup her firm young buttock and his other hand held her skull through her silky hair, pressing her mouth open under his for his starving tongue. She was moaning and trying to wriggle away, but he held her fast and hard.

  Celia breathed raggedly through her nose, and it wasn't very satisfactory because Web seemed to be sucking the very life out through her mouth and his hand held the back of her head so hard that she couldn't move it. Her bottom felt hot where his hard hand held it to shove her so close against him that she could feel his organ, huge and menacing against her soft little belly.

  This wasn't any groping boy. He knew exactly what to do and how. Just when she thought she'd have to do something awful like trying to stomp on his toe, his hand came up and closed over her breast and his mouth slid down her throat and buried against the hollow between her shoulder and neck.

  "Don't fight me, baby," he ordered harshly, his lips hot against her skin.

  The terrible warmth was making her limp... yet her breasts were heaving under his hand. Her eyes were closed, and the heat from his lips against her throat sent radiant warmth coursing all through her, and her breast was blazing from his hand. Oh, she didn't want to fight him. It was so lovely in his arms... but it was all wrong. Everything she'd ever been taught said it was all wrong. How could anything so wrong and sinful feel so marvelous?

  Strange fragments of thoughts that were not even really thought--just fragments, glimpses out of time-flashed across her mind. Her father screaming about actresses being whores... her mother warning her about men who only wanted one thing out of you... the panting fevered pimply boys she'd occasionally had to fight off... the trap of early marriage she'd seen her girl friends fall into... one pitiful girl who'd gotten pregnant in high school... all these things flashed in painful memory in a montage that wheeled and would not focus in her head.

  A jolt shot through her so delicious that her limbs turned to jelly, for his hand had slid her blouse off one shoulder and the bra strap with it and his burning hand cupped one full heaving naked breast. It was as though she'd been waiting all her life for that particular sensation... Web's warming palm sheltering her soft vulnerable breast.

  Web could feel her soft pink nipple stiffen to a closed coral bud against his palm in immediate eager response. He'd known from the minute he saw her three months ago that he had to have her and that he would! He was only amazed and scornful of his long and unfamiliar patience. She was shuddering and shivering under his hands and mouth and arms, as he'd somehow sensed from that first moment that she would. That wide-eyed faintly mocking smile was a good mask to put off innocent horny boys, but he'd had too many women to be fooled by it.

  "I almost ripped that costume off you tonight... so I could touch you like this," he muttered against her open upturned mouth, his hand kneading the firm satin flesh of her heavy young breast.

  "Please... please... don't," she moaned, trembling even more as his hand slipped her other white shoulder out of her silk blouse, freeing the other peaked mountain of breast. Her blouse dangled limply down her arms, and her bra hung by the straps on her elbow. His fingers traced the globes of both breasts that hung like fruits from the tender truck of her body.

  "Nooooooo!" She screamed softly as his thumb and forefinger pinched her hard rubied nipple painfully and an electric shock flashed through her and something pulled inward in an agonizing pleasure between her legs. She could feel moisture dampening her pantyhose.

  Suddenly her father's face, twisted in horrible anger, as it had been that time he'd caught her coming out of a movie with Johnny Benson when she'd supposedly gone alone, dominated the whole of her mind. She suddenly saw herself as she would look to her father now... breasts bared in a motel room with a man... the whole sordid unsavory picture... the small-town girl lured into a sinful vulgar fleshly hell. The greatest hell of all was knowing that if this escapade was found out, she'd be dragged home to rot forever.

  A terrified sob welled up from deep within her, and she tore herself from Web's arms and started toward the bathroom to put her clothes in order and then somehow get out of there before she was further defiled.

  Just as she got to the bathroom door, Web caught her from behind-one strong arm pinning her arms to her sides. The tears were pouring down her face now and the sobs rising in choking waves. "Stop acting like a child," he ordered sternly. "Open your eyes. Open your eyes and look at yourself." His hand was tenderly sweeping across her naked breasts, thrusting fully into his hand while he held her immobile in front of the mirrored bathroom. "You are a full beautiful enchanting woman. Not a naive child. You have a woman's needs and I have a man's needs. We are grown up and we care about each other. I knew from the moment I saw you, you were going to be my woman." His voice was imprinting the hypnotic words against her throat, and she could see her own breasts, turgid-tipped and fully developed, come to quivering life again under his hand that spoke a tender body language as mesmerizing as his voice.

  Web kept talking softly, and Celia's sobs were subsiding as he gently removed her arms from the blouse and unhooked the bra to let it fall to her feet. He worked quickly but stealthily so as not to alarm her again. Fortunately her skirt only wrapped and unbuttoned and fell in a bright plaid pool. He caught his breath as he saw the brown triangle of pubic fleece revealed by her sheer pantyhose. The pale slender columns of her perfect legs joined to form that sacred triangle, and her firm flat belly and hips formed planes as aesthetically perfect as a da Vinci geometric drawing. His cock jerked wildly in his pants against her firm buttocks and spine. Easy, he cautioned. His hands caressed her belly and hips and thighs, feeling the perfection his eyes laved, and in the process he slid the pantyhose down till they too fell in wisps around her feet.

  At last she stood naked as a marble goddess but far more beautiful, for the blood coursed under that flawless skin to tinge its white perfection with rose. The flesh under his hands hollowed and swelled in impossible curves, and he shook in spite of himself at the sight he had waited for so long. Feverishly he pulled his own clothes off with one hand as he stood behind her, holding her with his arm and letting his hand stray over her lush nakedness.

  Celia felt as though she might fall, but Web's rock-hard arm and wandering hand held her both literally and figuratively. In trancelike fascination she watched her own naked body being caressed, and her eyes registered the delicious sensation her flesh was feeling. This couldn't be happening. It was a delight she had dimly imagined in her loneliest moments as being possible perhaps when one was married... but it was so far from her own experience that it seemed she was playing an impossible part with ease and eagerness. Celia Brown had never felt a male hand on her naked flesh, and she could see the muscles of his hand, the tendons, the ve
ins as they worked in deft combination to move that delight-giving hand over her bare body. She could even see her pelvis arch as he smoothed her belly and then inched down to tangle his fingers in her pubic hair. Her own moisture was seeping damply from deep inside her to sheen her thighs on the inside just where her legs joined. Her cheeks were still wet, but her eyes stared wildly back at her, glazed in a mixture of terror and pleasure and awe. The branding heat from his hand flowed right through her flesh wherever it touched, firing some inner furnace deep in her vitals. She heard him moan deep in his throat and felt him turn her and crush her to his own naked wanting body.

  "Oh... baby... God." His mouth attacked her own and she was crushed delectably against the hard hairiness of his strong male body. She felt his tongue plunge deeply into her throat and his arms clenching her painfully as though he were going to press her completely into his own flesh. Oh, yes. She could never get close enough. Her own arms crept up around his neck and she opened her mouth wide to receive him. She could feel the huge throbbing instrument of his penis, upright and rigid, mashed between them as her thrusting breasts were mashed into his hairy chest. The incredible tactile messages bombarding her brain were jamming the circuits to reason and sense and judgment.