The Unwilling Actress

by Bella Dietrich

  Hilda was suddenly terrified as an unbearable pain ripped her. He was ripping her apart back there! She'd be split wide open, she realized in sudden horror, her round buttocks beginning to thrash insanely. "Oh... Oh God...!" she choked, unable to restrain the tears of agony. The torment was unbelievable, and she'd never be able to stand it.

  "Here comes your share, bitch!" Web panted, throwing his thick throbbing shaft into the persistent, rubbery flesh until at last, with one final buttock-flattening lunge, he ground it all the way inside the hot constricting depths of her lewdly stretched rectum. His strong hairy pelvis smacked solidly into the softness between her upturned rounded buttocks, his balls swinging hard against the spread lips of her pussy. She was impaled to the hilt on his punishing solid flesh rod of prick.

  She was screaming piteously, "Oh God... please... no... oh, please... don't... you're killing me...!" The tears were pouring down her face, and sobs wracked her as the searing, excruciating pain tore into her defenseless body. Hilda was not used to pain and did not know how to cope with it or get through it. She'd die... right here... split apart and bleeding! Oh, why had she gotten herself involved with this maniac? Why and how?

  The vengeance Web was wreaking on her cringing body was doubly sweet, for his lust-maddened cock was getting a lascivious and unbelievable pleasure in the bargain. He watched his rigid ravaging prick disappear into the tight ovaled hole between her raised mounds, disappear entirely until his hairy loins were locked against her ass flesh. As he drew it out slightly, the pink ridges of anal meat pulled out too and then were forced inward again as he shoved it in with a mighty thrust. He grunted and his breath came faster and faster.

  "Oh... oh dear God!" The agonizing shock and tearing pain were too much! "Ohhh... it's tearing... ohhhhh... STOP! Please STOP!" Hilda wailed and moaned and screamed, waggling her bottom to try and pry the tormenting, terrible weapon from her flaming, pain-ridden asshole.

  Suddenly Web was rhythmically sawing in and out of her gripping hole, his panting increasing as he watched the salacious sight of his own angry lusting greedy cock fucking into her tiny recoiling rectum. The massive steel-hard rod raced in and out of her clinging anal passage from the tip of her now stretched asshole to the very depths of her belly.

  The pain was eating into her, and the thought of the brutal sodomizing was both terrible and strangely exciting. The forbidden entry was a powerful aphrodisiac if she could somehow bear the flaming, scarring hurt... but, oh God!... how?

  Web was losing all sense of reason, clutching wildly at her hips and digging his fingers brutally into the tender flesh of her thighs as the slaving, salacious feelings of his throbbing swift sword stabbed and lunged savagely into her upturned forbidden hole. He sent it digging into that cringing pink flesh like a sharp knife slicing, cutting, and the thunder in his balls that slapped her naked cunt was building to the scalding rise of a huge boiling vat.

  God damn her! She was going to use Celia... well, by God... he was using her... using her like the bitch... the jealous, vicious bitch she was! Web gloried in the using, the punishing, the brutal sodomizing of her asshole. He jabbed even harder, watching her moan and writhe and plead, her hands knotting into terrified fists, the tendons standing out in cords as she struggled to bear the pain, her pain-maddened head flinging from side to side, the tan hair tangling and swinging and matting with her tears and the sobs wracking her like small earthquakes.

  Hilda flailed and moaned and sobbed, and in her writhing her hips moved back to meet his thundering onslaught and she found it lessened the pain. Gasping, she tried again to push back as he lunged into her sore and tender flesh, and again it eased and brought a strange flicker of excitement, a new sensation. Soon she was pushing hard against the rigid ramming thickened shaft, and she waved her ass lasciviously back against his solid thrusts.

  That goddamned bitch! She was beginning to enjoy it! She was shoving her ass back onto his driving, pounding cock... enjoying the lustful sodomizing, reveling in the depraved possession of her asshole. Web drove it harder, ramming her unmercifully, the throbbing great mass of his solid flesh pole racing brutally into her stretched hole, his hands holding her hips still.

  By an enormous effort of will, he suddenly stopped with his huge cock sunk all the way into her narrow belly. It jerked inside her, and he saw the grimace of pain twist her face. "Now..." he grunted, "Now... tell me what else... you've done... to get rid of Celia... Tell me!" She was sobbing again, and her hands stretched out in claws of pleading. Web wrapped his arms under her belly and clenched her ass even harder and deliberately jerked his cock viciously inside her cringing depths. "Talk, bitch... now!"

  She told him then... everything... sobbing out the bits and pieces of her treachery... the insurance of her several plots to get Celia removed from Peabody permanently. The sweat was pouring from Web's face in his effort to listen and keep her talking and still restrain his raging deep-sunk prick long enough to get the story.

  "That's all... I swear..." she sobbed. "Please... please..." Web released her belly then and grabbed her hips and pulled his outraged shaft back, drawing it almost out and then, with a groan of relief, slamming it into her in a frantic fucking. Jesus! He had to finish it now. He couldn't hold on another second!

  Pulling her spherical cheeks apart suddenly, the sweat pouring from his head and face, he pumped furiously into her stretched hole, her punished flesh clinging to his thick cock as he withdrew and disappearing again as he rammed it forward. Hilda's warm sucking asshole was extracting the very marrow from him, and he fucked into her hot depths ferociously to get it over. His balls were ready to shoot. He was almost there!

  In his lust-driven craze, he was only conscious of getting there, ramming to the finish, and his tripping point was so... so close! He gasped and plunged in ravaging strokes that speeded up to a maniacal pace, groans spilling out his open mouth and a great shaking paroxysm of debasing lust building in his belly and loins.

  Suddenly he tensed and arched, slamming into her so hard he almost lost his balance. "G-A-A-G-G-G-H-H-H-H-D-D-D!" he screamed, his strong loins jerking convulsively against the flatness of her upraised buttocks, and a great flood of hot, swirling sperm poured deep into her rectum, filling her quaking belly almost to the bursting point. Web shoved and shoved as the spurts of creaming semen gushed spasmodically into the clenching depths... a seemingly unending stream jetting out in pulses in the black recess of her belly.

  He hung above her, panting and letting his heartbeat ease. His buttocks clenched and unclenched, straining the last few spewing spurts of his flaccid balls. At last he was dry and empty, limp and spent. Wearily he pulled his shrinking cock from her, and it came out with a cork's sound, popping out of her backside. Still taking his breaths in deep shudders, Web stumbled up and across the room.

  "No... you bastard... you can't leave me like this!" Still kneeling but with torso raised, she was spitting out the words at him in a snarl. She rolled over and spread her legs, lifting her hips to thrust her opened pussy at him, wet with his cum that had drained down to it. She clutched her breasts in an agony of un-fulfillment. "Come here and fuck it... come fuck me... you can't leave me like this."

  Web ignored her and, still almost drugged with the aftereffects of his mighty orgasm, started pulling on his clothes. He found his glasses and gathered his briefcase. She was moaning and spouting foul obscenities at him and arching her cunt up feverishly. Dressed now in pants and shirt, he gathered his jacket and shoved his feet in his shoes without socks, stuffing them in a pocket. He paused briefly at the door.

  Hilda was finger-fucking herself and still screaming at him. Her pelvis was elevated and her fingers madly sluicing her own pussy with a sucking sound, the pulsing hair-lined swollen flesh almost palpitating visibly. Web turned, went out the door, and stumbled down the carpeted stairs, with Hilda still screaming out her filth at him.

  Chapter Six

  Celia folded the stack of sweaters mecha
nically, the coolness of the glass-topped counter contrasting with the soft warm feel of the wool. Body of the sweater face down, the sleeves crossed over the back, and the whole thing then doubled in half... one on the other in a neat stack, their edges even. Her life had once been like that, neat, planned, in sequence, no overhanging edges. But now it was a tangled, raveled, untidy turmoil, and there was no way to put it back as it was.

  Sometime during the day, as she went through the motions of waiting on customers, clearing the fitting rooms, writing sales slips, polishing the glass cases, she had come to the inevitable conclusion that she would go home to Waxahachie. There was nothing else to do.

  The sound of her father's voice had rung in her head since this morning; the ache over Web only increased; her shame over Patrick last night... any or all of these could have sent her home. But it was Hilda's call at lunchtime that had made the decision final. Peabody must not collapse as a school because Celia had depleted the available funds by taking a scholarship. Hilda hadn't wanted to tell her, of course, but had to when Esther, dear sweet soul, just wouldn't.

  Sighing, Celia slipped the folded stack of sweaters neatly into the case. She supposed there was some kind of job in some kind of awful little dry goods store in Waxahachie that she could get. She'd have to. The rest of her life would be spent there.

  * * *

  The little back terrace was brilliant in the sunshine, and Esther could feel the heat of the sun through her thin batiste blouse on her shoulderblades. Everything sparkled, the white stones under her feet, the leaves of the trees, the grass beyond, the china and glassware on the old pink linen-covered iron table. Justin leaned across the table and took her hand and kissed the palm.

  "Just trust me, my dear Esther. Hilda and I have made all the arrangements. The cast party will be a good sort of tryout for what we'll be offering later to the bored executives who come to Dallas on conventions."

  "But I've never really gone to the cast parties much before. That's for the young people."

  "Tonight, my dear, you'll get closer to your students than you ever have before... I promise you."

  "All right," Esther sighed, pushing her doubts away. Her hand was tingling from Justin's warm palm. He'd enjoyed the lunch she'd made. The sun was warm. Her whole body still felt contented and expansive from the lovemaking behind the shuttered blinds of her cool high-ceilinged bedroom. It was foolish to keep nagging at him with her silly doubts.

  * * *

  The water in the big old-fashioned tub, ensconced on high tiptoe-clawed feet, was getting cold. Patrick leaned forward, turned on the hot water tap, and lay back, nursing his beer. The door banged open, and Bullock came barging in, whistling. He stopped short.

  "Hey, old buddy. Didn't know you were here." He grinned at Patrick's immersed body, noting the hot water tap still running. "What you trying to do... boil your balls?"

  "Just bring their temperature down to roughly that of boiling water, chum."

  "Good session last night, huh?"

  "Too good to let you know who with."

  "Ah... you friggin' politicians are all the same... selfish." Brand turned to the toilet and took a leak.

  Patrick leaned forward slightly, shut the tap off with his toe, and slid back, taking a gulp of beer. He wished the hell Bullock hadn't come in. He had some hard thinking to do, and fast.

  "Guess what I did today?" Bullock paused for effect, zipping up his fly. "I got a job. I am now employed at the downtown office of the Unified Insurance Company. Start Monday."

  Patrick twisted his head to peer up at him. "Sounds like you got it bad for Rosemary and you're preparing to become a solid citizen." Lifting his beer in a mock toast, Patrick said casually, "Speaking of solid citizens, I've been asked to run for city council."

  "Jesus! That's great! Just what you've been waiting for! Goddamn! Congratulations, you bastard!" Patrick gave him a wet hand to shake.

  "There's only one problem. Money. It has to be done right... and it takes money. I know. I've been running other people's campaigns. Know any likely banks or rich widows?"

  "Shit, man, you got one right upstairs, and she's not even a widow."

  "Who?"

  "Hilda. Didn't you know her old man was in oil? She's got money coming out the ass."

  "That doesn't mean she'd give it to me."

  "If you can give it to her... if you know what I mean... she'll shell out, I think," Bullock said, remembering his quickie with her in the kitchen. "She's up there now, getting things ready for the cast party after the show tonight. Why don't you go try and give her a hand?"

  "Good thinking, Brand. I may just appoint you to the public works commission," Patrick laughed, tossing his beer can at the wastebasket and missing. He grabbed the soap and began scrubbing vigorously.

  Celia leaned forward to the makeup mirror in the dressing room, trying to steady her hand to do her eyes. Her face was pale and wan and exhausted, and her stomach was clenching. "The show must go on" was not a tradition she wanted to carry out now, but she must.

  "Here you are, honey," Rosemary called as she came into the dressing room carrying a white paper bag. She pulled out a carton of vanilla milkshake and set it on the dressing table along with the cold creams, jars and pots of rouge and base and eye pencils.

  "I don't know whether I can get it down or not. It'll probably come right back up."

  "Try anyway. It'll give your poor tummy something to chew on besides itself." She began stripping off her slacks and shirt and putting on her costume. She looked at Celia as she changed. Poor little thing looked done in.

  "You'll forget all about being tired when you get out there, honey. You always do. The audience is filling up fast. Looks like a good crowd."

  Celia nodded dumbly, sucking on the straw, and felt the slow thick coldness hit her grateful stomach. She had to get through tonight somehow... some way. The thought of facing Patrick on that stage suddenly occurred to her... followed by the thought that Web would not be there. Oh God! The mess she'd made of everything!

  "Looks like Hilda really knocked herself out on getting things ready for the cast party... for a change, I might add." Rosemary pulled a stool up to the mirror beside Celia.

  "Yes... I guess she did."

  "Come on, honey. Get with it. Those screaming bit players will be here soon, and you know how crowded things get in here. This is their big night, you know. Not the play... the cast party. Most of them only do this for the parties." Rosemary slapped on base and stroked it over her face until her skin was covered like a mask.

  "Maybe we all do...." Celia said strangely, staring at her own stiff partially made-up face. Rosemary caught her eye in the mirror and looked at her queerly. Celia picked up the eyeliner and began to put on the rest of her mask. As it went on, she began to feel a little better. Celia was receding and Helena advancing... a gallant, virtuous heroine... a virtuous lady.

  Chapter Seven

  The party was already under way when Celia climbed the stairs. The laughing, shouting, and squealing had begun. The music was winding up-around and through the voices-the high wandering poignant Elizabethan recorder and lute music they had used as background music for the play.

  Celia felt herself pulled into the middle of the room as though she'd been caught at the edge of a whirlpool and sucked into its center. Bullock put his arm around her waist and kissed her cheek. "Darling, you were magnificent!" She was passed from one set of arms to another, kissed and praised and squeezed and lionized. The euphoria of opening night had worked its magic, and all the hard work had reaped its reward. Everyone was a little high on sheer excitement.

  Someone handed her a cup of punch. It was icy and tasted like limeade. She drank thirstily. Celia felt her tiredness begin to be forgotten, or at least to be not important anymore. It was a wonderful feeling to worry and work and slave and somehow pull a play together with a group of people who cared about doing it as much as you did. When it had been done
and was an accomplished fact, you simply had to celebrate. You had to let go and admire what you'd done... together.

  Hilda came swishing through from the kitchen holding a platter of cheese and cold cuts to add to the already overflowing table. Pale gold lame flowing pants slithered around her ankles with a matching full-sleeved blouse and a brown velvet bolero. She looked quite New York and almost pretty, Celia thought.

  "You did all this by yourself, Hilda? I really feel guilty about not helping you."

  "Quite all right. You did your bit out front. You were divine, you know."

  "Thank you, Hilda. And thank you... for... calling me today."

  "I know it wasn't my business to," she lowered her voice, "but I just thought you'd want to know."