The Unwilling Actress

by Bella Dietrich

  "Ohhhhhhhh... Godddd... baby... ooo!" Justin thought it would never end. It felt as if gallons of his very essence poured into her in huge pulsing liquid gushes. The very life was pouring out of him, and he would sleep a long time. He rammed again and again, convulsively like a dying chicken with a wrung neck, still quickening in the semblance of life. He tightened and plunged again and again... and again... and again... until finally he only twitched and gasped, clenched feebly, and fell on her with the great weight of his utterly exhausted and completely fulfilled body that only showed life through his gasping, heaving chest and nostrils.

  Hilda clasped him tighter around the great bear's body, rising now on the wave of his quaking, erupting, explosive climax that sent the almost never-ending spurts of his thick hot, searing creamy semen cascading over her womb, washing her with torrents of blazing liquid that rose and gushed in the quiet pool of her belly into quickening rippling hot-springed life. Her pelvis rose like a bone-and-flesh bluff, thrust up into the air by his quaking turmoil, and her legs clasped him and rode ever upward to reach the ever-receding peak that kept escaping her efforts. She strained and clutched, her hands now on his flaccid ass as she strove to get up that treacherous height. Her nails dug and her thighs labored, first on his shoulders, then around his waist, to try and keep the rapidly shrinking rigidity of his great prick within her. But it was withdrawing... shrinking... pulling from her before she could get to that bright peak. Oh God. He was going to leave her high and dry. He mustn't! She was so close now. After all the pain and humiliation, he couldn't leave her there quaking and straining and trying and hurting now... not from pain... but from the interruption of her own so-close eruption and bliss.

  "Garrrrrretttt!!!" she wailed. "Don't leave... me!..." And then she felt his shrunken prick pull out with a plopping sound. She was alone and achingly hollow... pulsingly hollow and pulsing in futile efforts on air.

  "S'all... right... baby..." he sighed. "Don't... worrryyy..." He kissed her mouth feebly and then slid his mouth down her hot nakedness until he had slithered down between her legs and his mouth fastened on her dripping, oozing pussy. He began lapping up his own hot cum as though it were milk and he still a hungry cub who didn't want to waste it.

  She felt his lapping tongue and arched up hopefully and moaned, "Yesssss... lick it... lover... make me... cum... hurry!" Her hands found pillows and stuffed them under her ass to give him better access to her splayed and opened cunt that was dying of malnutrition and deprivation.

  His face was wet with his own cum. Justin licked and licked the warm sweetness until he could taste her secretions too, and he stabbed his tongue into her sucking cunt, the soggy hairs tickling his nose and his nostrils drinking in her tangy, woman-lusting smell. Christ! He hadn't meant to shoot so soon, but he couldn't help it. That viselike pussy of hers had milked him, and he simply couldn't hold it any longer. Jesus! This was the best fuck he'd had in years.

  He was reviving a little now, and he brought his huge paws up and delicately spread her excited flesh until his tongue could isolate her throbbing erect little clitoris that stood to attention and begged his indulgence. He touched it with his wet, practiced tongue. Hilda screamed and caught his great shaggy head in her hands, shoving his face harder into her ringing, jangling, demanding clit.

  Garrett sucked on the tiny pseudo-phallus, and as he sucked she moaned and writhed up to him, grinding it to him fiercely and hard, her whole body jerking in need. He lifted his head and looked at her soaking cunt, the swollen aperture outlined with wet hair, the lascivious pink folds of flesh open to him. She groaned and tried to thrust it even closer to his fiery tongue. He licked downward from the clit, throbbing and quivering, to her puckered, crumpled little asshole, the same pale brown as her nipples. He teased the tiny brown opening with his tongue,' laving it and circling it.

  She felt his tongue tickling and licking at her asshole, and the salacious sensation sent her even higher toward that point in time of promised fulfillment. "Oh-h-hhhhhhhhhhh... yessssssssssss!" she moaned, and felt his hardened tongue jab into the tiny orifice and jerked at the wounding. Oh God... it had to be soon.

  Justin fucked her anus with his tongue, jabbing harder and harder into the tight, muscular passage. Her head was flopping from side to side, and her pelvis jumped and writhed. The clenching little passage clutched his tongue ferociously in time to her wailing. He could feel her cunt juices flowing down to wet the crumpled anal opening.

  He could tell she was getting close, and his invading tongue slid back up to her flowering cunt. Justin rammed the stiffened taster deep into her clasping hollow and began fucking it as fiercely as he'd fucked her rectum. Her rubbery wet vaginal walls milked on his probing, fucking tongue feverishly, and she was almost delirious.

  "Ohhhh... lover... fuck it... ohhhh... fuck... fuck... FUCK!" Her cunt was slamming into his face as she struggled, jerked, rotated, and writhed against his pillaging tongue. All thought had left her except to keep that heavenly hellish brutal ravishing tongue in her sucking cunt until she came screaming. She was almost there. Her thighs closed around his head. She set her fingers in his black and silver hair, trying to devour his whole head with her hungry pussy.

  Suddenly Garrett felt her stiffen to a rigid, screaming, raving orgasm. His hands under her buttocks felt every muscle lock in cords and ridges with her spine set in a concrete column. Her legs shot out and quivered in mid-air, and her hands clamped on his head and tried to force his face completely inside her bursting vagina.

  "AHHHHHHHHHHGGGGGGGGGGH-HHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, arching every muscle to the blinding explosive, bursting, careening, arcing orgasmic climax that threatened to end her life right then. The sensations were so overwhelming and unearthly that she thought she must be dying... dying in this beautiful, incredible bliss that must never stop.

  At last Garrett lifted his dripping face to look at her almost unconscious face, the tan hair damp and tangled, the eyes closed, the mouth slack and open. He pulled himself off her and wearily stumbled to the bathroom.

  Hilda lay for a long time, and finally her head began to function again. She could hear water running in the bathroom. A catlike ease and satisfaction crept through her as she stretched her limbs in exultation. She washed herself in makeshift fashion in the tiny kitchen, looking around with a proprietary air. The part was hers. She knew it.

  Dressed again, she lit a cigarette and waited. At last Garrett came in. He too was dressed, in loose slacks and a burgundy silk robe with an ascot tucked in the neckline. His silver-streaked black hair was in the familiar swept-back mane. He looked more than ever like a Hollywood director. He carefully took a cigarette from the onyx box on the table and inserted it in the holder and lit it as though she weren't even there.

  "When do rehearsals start?" she smiled smugly.

  "I'll call you a cab," he answered, turning to the desk and picked up the receiver.

  Hilda flew to his side. "Mr. Garrett, I said when do rehearsals start?" The panic poured from her strident, affected voice.

  He put the receiver back and turned to her patiently, as though to explain something to an idiot child.

  "Tryouts start tomorrow night. I haven't cast the part yet. And besides, I have more important things in mind for you."

  "But... but... you said... you promised..." she spluttered, outraged and beginning to boil inside.

  "I promised nothing," he answered coolly. "You assumed. I have never yet cast a part from a supine position." He picked up the receiver again and turned to dial.

  "You... you bastard!" she screamed. All her hopes, all her plans!

  "I told you I have more important things in mind for you." He started to dial, and Hilda grabbed the phone and flung it to the floor. It crashed with an abortive ring.

  "More important to whom? To you!... not to me!" She was shaking with rage and a fury that threatened to empty her stomach right there. She wheeled and threw on her trenchcoat and grabbed her pur
se.

  Garrett calmly put the phone back on the desk. "I'll call you tomorrow when you've returned to the realm of rationality."

  She knew that with every word she screamed her chances of ever getting a part with him were dashed, and her father had made it clear he would never send her to New York until she had made it locally as an actress. But she could not stop the stream of filth that poured from her mouth in her agony of disappointment and frustration.

  * * *

  Hilda ran most of the eight blocks back to Peabody, her breath and her tears coming in spurts. The spring air chilled her wet face. How could she have been such a fool... such a blithering fool? She wanted to slap that smug, sophisticated, sneering face of his until he fell dead. She wanted to kill him... to maim him... to ruin him. And one day... she promised herself... one day...

  She ran up the front steps of the dimly lit house to the veranda, wiping her cheeks on her scarf. Her cork-soled sandals made no sound, but her heart was beating so loudly it felt as though it would wake the whole house. She stopped in front of the door to dig in her purse for the key.

  Among the makeup, wallet, bank books, notebooks and kleenex, she finally found it in the bottom. Her hand stopped just before she inserted it in the lock. Through the etched glass pane of the door, between the old-fashioned curliness of frosting in a curve of clear glass, she saw a couple on the hall couch.

  My God! It was Celia... that little snip Celia! The bitch Hilda knew, without Garrett's telling her, would get the part... her part. She put her eyes closer to the glass so she had an unimpeded view. Hilda held her breath and looked.

  Celia was half naked, seated on a fully clothed man, seated right over his obviously naked cock and riding him in a wild bucking fucking. Hilda scarcely breathed at all as she watched the modest, the naive, the innocent Celia thundering down on a huge prick that was slicing right into her cunt. The Celia who could make a whole audience want to throw their arms around her in love and adoration. The Celia who had every man in sight defending her and protecting her... as though she were a saint. Some saint!

  * * *

  Web felt the naked hot walls of Celia's pussy squeezing him with what seemed like hundreds of muscular fingers as he fucked up and down wildly, making the springs of the couch creak faintly under him. Oh, Jesus! He was getting close. He was getting so close! He could feel the soft rubbery head of her womb give and depress as he thrust up hard into the wet, slippery, blazing hot depths inside her belly. His hands ran over her naked thighs doubled around him, and he clutched the smooth white flesh, kneading its fresh tenderness. They went up to her breasts that bounced and jellied in his hands, her bra pushed up over them, the silk shirt unbuttoned and flapping around her silky hips. There was something even more salacious about lying here fully dressed with Celia partially covered by the opened shirt and fucking into her hot receiving, clenching brown-haired hole.

  Celia's head hung and her breasts were propped by Web's hot covering hands. She clutched his forearms through the light sports jacket as though they were reins and she was riding to a victory that was almost in sight. She was leaning into it as she bucked up and down on the saddle of his hips, impaled with every motion on his driving, thundering, beating penis, and the sound of hooves, feverishly increasing the pace, was ringing in her ears. With every upbeat of that saddle with its stab into her belly, she met it head-on with a plunge of her shaking body, straining on to the finish.

  "Ride, baby... fuck... fuck harder... cum on... with me... Fuck!" Web grunted, his breath heaving out of his chest in near sobs as he arched his pelvis up, driving his near-bursting cock straight up to the hilt inside her churning belly. Her hair was swinging wildly around her face, and his hands were bruising her breasts in maniacal spurring fury.

  Hilda pressed her eye right up to the glass in an effort to see who Celia was fucking so wildly. The top of a blond wavy head was all she could see, and a sports jacket and gaping slacks where his cock thrust into Celia's pussy. Web. It had to be Web. The accountant... the staid cool young businessman. Hilda could see his hands with the blond hair holding and squeezing Celia's breasts. Her own breasts ached, just looking; they felt lonely and yearning.

  She'd always wanted to watch, and now was her chance. But, oh God, she didn't realize it could do this to her. She felt her own recently ravished pussy igniting again and clenching inward on itself, beginning to pour out moistness. Oh Jesus.

  As she saw them straining higher and higher and could even hear their muffled moans, Hilda felt an unreasoning jealousy and fury attack her gut. That little bitch-poor and from a common, vulgar family-had everything Hilda wanted. The power on the stage, the beauty that mesmerized people, the grace and poise, and now... she even had a highly desirable man who'd probably marry her. Hilda even imagined that Celia had got to Garrett first and fucked him into giving her the part. Oh God! It wasn't fair! It wasn't fair!

  She'd find a way. Somehow she'd find a way. Her mind raced as her eyes watched and her own hand came out to press under her trenchcoat to her knit-covered crotch. Celia's parents! Of course. That was the one thing she trembled over... the possibility of being yanked home by her Victorian, prosaic, protective, watchdog parents. Well, Hilda had found the way. She'd get Celia yanked home if it was the last thing she ever did. With Celia out of the way, Hilda was confident. Rosemary wasn't that good, and there was no one else in the little theatre group who could do it.

  * * *

  They rose in tandem, meeting on the upbeat, and their bodies banged together, bone on bone, as their fleshly organs that fitted so perfectly together sawed in and out in abandoned fucking. Celia screwed herself up and down Web's hot rigid pole in a wild salacious dance, her body straining every muscle... up and down and in and out and around and around.

  Every thought had flown from her head, and her one glimmer of consciousness was fastened on the scintillating sparks that sent such blazing bliss into the depths of her aching belly. It filled and emptied, filled and emptied, with his raging, bullying, raping cock. She gave herself willingly to this boiling inferno, the depths of a lusting hell for which she knew there was no redemption. Her weak and naked body, her whore's body now, was quenching her very soul, and there was only the completion, the fulfillment of her base and ignoble and pliant senses.

  But it was not the theatre or theatre people or the acting out of other lives and other emotions that her father had thought would bring her to these depths... it was her own yearning, pleading, giving, aching, lusting, flesh. The fault was her own. Her own-and she must bear the consequences.

  Suddenly she felt Web dig his powerful hands into her smooth, silky hips. He threw his jerking, rigid steely-spiking maleness into the very core of her being, as his hands dragged her even farther onto his naked flesh rod that stabbed into her soft womanly womb.

  "BAAAABBBBBBBYYYYYYYYYYY!" he screamed, lifting his saddled hips straight up so she was impaled on the arrow of hot pulsating prick that began to gush a scalding stream into the very secret recesses of her lurching belly. As it hit her vitals with such pressurized force, she felt her own organs begin to flood the fountain of his hot probe with a rush of blazing excessive, orgasmic fluid... the pleasure-pain that she had ridden so hard to attain. It was a wide and beautiful plateau of emotion and sensation that drained the very life from her.

  They struggled on the peak-clutching, screaming, convulsing, crying, panting, and clenching each other in the agonizing ecstasies and celestial raptures that enveloped their bodies and souls as they clung together, almost frightened by the force and intensity of their shared experience. Their two beings twined and joined in a cataclysmic union that seemed to shake the very earth until it trembled on its fragile axis.

  Chapter Four

  Hilda put down the receiver quietly, with satisfaction, without saying goodbye, without identifying herself in any way. She patted the homely black instrument. It had served her well. She looked up from the chintz chair to see Rosemar
y and Bullock walk sideways together into the wide sun-flooded living room. They were locked together in a long kiss, and their arms were twined around each other. Bullock's hand was swallowed up in the low peasant blouse that Rosemary wore.

  At last their mouths broke away and they looked at each other long and deeply. That bastard Bullock. He hadn't looked at her that way last night when she'd gone to him in her need. Hilda had given him a crazy story about being locked out. He'd probably been up here all evening and had just come down the back stairs when she arrived. The look he was giving Rosemary now would explain why he'd been so adamant about keeping quiet and the perfunctory fucking he'd given Hilda on the kitchen table.