by Velvet
“We’ll make it easy on you.” Mason grinned. “If we lose, my partner and I will gladly suck your pussies until you come. And if we win, you’ll get on your knees and buff the helmet.”
“We wanna play too,” whined the blonde from the losing team.
Mason smiled at Trey because he knew that within minutes they would be getting their dicks sucked by four blond bombshells. “The more the merrier.” He grinned.
They let the women break first, and they sank a solid ball, but on their second turn they scratched, sinking the cue ball into the lower right-hand pocket. Mason went next. He hit the green-striped ball, which ricocheted off of the red-striped ball, causing both balls to drop in simultaneously. Mason was on a roll, banking and pocketing balls right and left. He felt like Minnesota Fats (minus the fat), as he wielded his cue stick, sinking all of their striped balls. With only the eight ball standing between them and an evening of fellatio, Mason called his shot, concentrated, aimed, and sank the black ball with one smooth hit of the cue stick. He turned to Trey and gave him a high five.
“Man, I didn’t know you had game like that,” Trey commented.
Mason smiled slyly. “I learned my way around the pool hall in college. After being on the losing end too many times, I decided to take some lessons to improve my game,” he admitted.
“That’s not fair; you guys are pros,” whined the same blonde who wanted to be included in the game.
“If it’ll make you feel any better, I’ll suck your clit as a consolation prize,” Mason offered.
“Now you’re talking,” she said, and hopped on top of the pool table.
Mason walked over to her, spread her legs apart, and patted her pussycat. He then took his hand and pulled down her thong. He fingered the petals of her pussy, and began to play with her pink clit.
“Hmm,” she moaned at his touch.
He could feel her getting wetter with each stroke. His mouth began to salivate in anticipation of tasting her sweet juices. He teased her a little longer before traveling south. He pushed her back on the table, threw her leg over his shoulder, and began feasting.
While Mason had his head buried between the legs of one blonde, Trey was on the other end of the table with a trio of blondes. One woman was on her knees sucking his dick, while another licked his balls. The third woman played with her nipples while watching and waiting her turn to wrap her lips around his big black dick.
Trey reveled in all the attention that he was getting; it was just what he needed to take his mind off of his problems. These women were servicing him so well that he forgot all about the fucked up predicament that he was in with Michele. Mason was right; a little excitement was exactly what he needed to escape, even if it was just for the moment.
6
FEODORA KONDRASHCHENKO, known as “FK,” was also known as “The Barracuda” (behind her back of course). FK was the fiercest talent agent in the business. Her parents were Russian Holocaust survivors and had instilled in their daughter the will to not only survive, but to thrive by any means necessary. Feodora’s father, Saul, founded the talent agency after coming to New York and witnessing all the young people fighting for auditions on Broadway. He saw an opportunity, hung up a shingle, and opened shop. Feodora worked alongside him and learned the ins and outs of the business, and when Saul retired, she took over as CEO and ran the business with an iron fist.
“What do you mean I can’t get my hands on a copy of the script?” she screamed into the receiver. Feodora was on the telephone with Fred, an associate in her West Coast office.
“I spoke to the head of development over at Warner, and he said that this project is wrapped so tight that no one will be allowed an advance copy of the script,” Fred informed her.
“Did you tell him it’s for me?” Feodora was not used to hearing the word “no.” She was relentless and refused to take no for an answer.
“FK, I told him, but he still said ‘no.’”
She fumed at the two-letter word. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just have to go over his head. I have someone in mind as the lead, and I want to read over the script before every agency in town has a copy.”
“Sorry, FK, but I tried,” Fred apologized and hung up.
“He’s got to go,” Feodora said to herself. Fred had been with the company for a year, and during that time he’d yet to step up to the plate and deliver the goods. She’d given him ample time to grow, but he was a slow learner, and slowness was something she had no tolerance for. Feodora made a note to call HR regarding his termination and then dialed one of her favorite clients.
“Hello?” Terra answered the phone in a groggy voice.
“Don’t tell me you’re still in bed?” Feodora rose before dawn every day, and had put in a full day’s work before noon. She was the type of person who only required four to five hours of sleep per night, and didn’t understand those people who needed eight hours of beauty rest.
Terra looked at the clock on her nightstand. “It’s only nine-thirty.” She sighed.
“And you should be up reading the trades,” Feodora chided her. By nine-thirty, Feodora had read every industry publication on the planet, and even managed to comb through the New York Times, The Wall Street Journal, and the Los Angeles Times. “If you’re serious about the business, you have to stay abreast of what’s happening before it’s old news,” she said, continuing her scolding.
Terra silently mouthed, Whatever. Even though she loved her agent, she didn’t love being talked to like a three-year-old. Terra flipped the covers off of her body and strode to the front door. She had all the entertainment trade publications delivered right to her door every morning. Usually she was up by eight o’clock, and by nine-thirty had finished every single rag, but this morning she was still a little hungover from the night before. She and Lexington had gone to another hotel opening and had stayed out way past three in the morning. “Calm down, FK. I’ve got all the papers right here in my arms, and they will be read before the clock strikes noon.” She chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t call to harass me about reading the trades.”
“I have an audition for you tomorrow at two-thirty. It’s for a Dove commercial. They’re looking for the All American Beauty to launch their new facial beauty bar. And I think you’d be perfect to represent the new line.”
This time Terra mouthed, I don’t think so. She wasn’t interested in auditioning for some damn television commercial. She wanted to be a movie star, and though she knew some actresses started their careers doing commercials, and then branching off to act in soap operas before making it big, she had no interest in either. Now that Sage was buying a movie studio, she could forgo the “paying your dues” part of the business and start right at the top. “No thanks, FK. I think I’ll pass.”
Hearing that two-letter word again nearly sent Feodora over the edge. “What do you mean, no thanks? At this stage of your career, which may I remind you is at the beginning, you can’t afford to turn anything down but your collar. If I send you out on a hundred go-sees a day, you should be happy,” she hissed into the receiver.
Sensing that she had pissed off Feodora, Terra began to explain. “Wait a minute, FK, don’t think I’m not grateful for all you’ve done. It’s just that I found out the other night that a good friend of mine is buying a studio, and he has agreed to let me star in his first film.” Terra knew she was stretching the truth, but she had to do some damage control so she wouldn’t lose her agent.
Feodora was privy to most of the insider information in New York and Hollywood, but she hadn’t heard anything about a new studio cropping up on the scene. “Who’s your friend, and what’s the name of the studio?”
“His name is Sage Hirschfield and he’s starting Hirschfield Multimedia,” she said, beaming through the phone.
“Sage Hirschfield?” Feodora knew of the Hirschfields. They were one of the most powerful families in the publishing industry, but she hadn’t heard anything abou
t them buying a movie studio. As she sat there and thought about their branching off into film, it made perfect sense. The Hirschfields had conquered publishing; now, obviously, they planned to do the same thing in the entertainment industry.
Hearing the inquisitive tone in Feodora’s voice, Terra clarified their relationship. “We grew up together.” She smiled into the receiver and added proudly, “Our families go way back.”
Even though Feodora treated Terra like any other starving actress, she knew that Terra was far from hungry. She was a Benson with money and connections. Having her on the client roster was beneficial to Feodora, even if Terra wasn’t the most talented actress in the stable. And after learning about the new Hirschfield acquisition, Feodora knew that she had made the right decision by accepting the young heiress as a client. “Hmm, I see. Well, let me make a few calls and find out exactly where they are in the process, but in the meantime, I want you to go to the audition, and don’t forget to read today’s trades,” Feodora instructed, refusing to take no for an answer.
Realizing it was useless arguing with FK, Terra relented and said, “Okay, I’ll be there.”
After Terra hung up, she showered and slipped on a pair of snug low-rider jeans, a stark white Thomas Pink shirt, and a pair of black Gucci loafers. She stuffed the trades into her Hermès tote, threw a cashmere cardigan around her shoulders, and headed out the door. Terra was hooked on the Chai latte at Borders. It was like liquid crack, and she couldn’t seem to get enough of the delicious tea concoction. Fortunately, there was a Borders around the corner from her apartment.
She hurried into the bookstore to get her daily dose of the sugary blend, but everyone on the West Side had the same idea, because the café line was ten deep. Terra noticed that there were only two available tables, so instead of waiting in line, she made a beeline to the only window table left, pulled out the trades, and set them square in the middle of the table. She took off her sweater and placed it on the back of the chair. After staking her territory, she stood in the long line with the rest of the junkies and waited to get her fix.
With a large cup of Chai latte in hand, Terra settled in at her table and began pouring over the trades. An hour later, she had finished reading half of the publications and was in the middle of Variety when a voice asked, “Excuse me, is this seat taken?”
Terra looked up, and standing in front of her was a gorgeous-looking man with a body straight out of Men’s Fitness magazine, and a handsome cocoa brown face straight out of GQ. He wore a tattered Brooklyn Dodgers T-shirt and a pair of gray jogging pants. White iPod earphones were wedged in his ears, but he obviously didn’t have the music turned up, because he stood there, looking at her, waiting for an answer.
“No, it’s empty,” she said, and continued reading. Though he was as fine as a runway model, Terra had no interest in striking up a conversation. She was on a mission, and that mission entailed persuading Sage to let her star in his first production. Terra was determined to be an actress, and she didn’t want to be distracted by a relationship. The only man she was interested in sexing up was Sage, because he held the key that could unlock the door to stardom.
Mason had just come from a run along Riverside Drive. He’d recently moved into the neighborhood and loved jogging along the Hudson. It was serene along the water, and the cool breeze off the river allowed him to clear his head before beginning a long night at the club. He had planned to get his double espresso to go, head home, take a shower, and get ready for work, but the moment he saw her sitting there looking like the epitome of the perfect woman, he couldn’t resist himself. She sat near the window, and the bright, midmorning sun highlighted her wavy, auburn hair. Her golden reddish tresses cascaded around her shoulders, framing her warm honey complexion, and made her stand out from the crowd. She was dressed casually, yet chic at the same time. The way she sat with her back as straight as an arrow and her legs crossed, Mason assumed that she had had some type of etiquette training. There was something unique about her and he wanted to know what made her tick, but before he could strike up a conversation, she pulled out her cell and made a call.
“Hello. Terra calling for Sage,” she said in a no-nonsense voice.
Ahh, so her name is Terra, Mason thought, eavesdropping.
“Oh. Do you know what time he’s expected back in the office? Well, just tell him that I called. He can reach me on the cell. Yes, he has the number,” she said, and flipped her phone shut.
I wonder if she’s calling her man? Mason thought. He looked at her left-hand ring finger and didn’t see an engagement ring or wedding band. He smiled to himself, Well, at least she isn’t married. So whoever this Sage person is, he isn’t her husband. A boyfriend he could deal with, but he’d had his share of dating married women. He wanted his own woman, not some other man’s wife.
Terra glanced across the table at him, and he appeared to be deep in thought. She came to Borders almost every morning, and hadn’t seen him before. She thought about asking if he was new to the neighborhood, but changed her mind. She didn’t want to give him the impression that she was interested, so she decided to leave before he initiated a conversation. She took one final sip of her latte, gathered her papers, stuffed them back into her tote bag, tied the sweater around her shoulders, and headed out the door.
Mason turned around in his chair and watched her sashay out of the bookstore café. She had a sexy strut, and though her blouse and sweater were conservative, her jeans hugged her ass suggestively. I bet she’s one of those “lady in the street and freak in the sheets” type of babe, he thought. Mason had seen that type numerous times at the Black Door. He was intrigued not only by her looks, but also by the way she had snubbed him. Mason was used to women falling all over themselves to get his attention, but she had barely looked in his direction. He was a typical testosterone-driven male, and loved the thrill of the hunt, and from what he could tell, she was well worth the chase.
7
“OOO, BABY, that’s it! That’s it!” Missy moaned as Sage rammed his ten-inch rod deep into her ass from behind.
Sage had taken an early lunch and headed straight over to Missy’s apartment in midtown. She lived within walking distance of his office, in a condo building on West Sixtieth Street. The one-bedroom corner unit was forty stories high, with floor-to-ceiling windows and spectacular south/west views of the city. Though the view was breathtaking, Missy couldn’t see clearly because Sage had her face pressed so close to the glass that the river view to the west was skewed. “Take…all…of…this…big…dick…Bitch!” he breathed between each thrust.
Missy bucked back. “Give it to me, Daddy!”
Sage was on the verge of cumming but pulled out instead; he didn’t want to cum just yet. Missy was a pro and he wanted to prove that he could go the distance, and not wimp out like an amateur. He grabbed her by the waist and flipped her over, so that she sat on the edge of the windowsill.
“This afternoon is your treat,” she purred, “so let me entertain you.” She stood up so that he could sit on the windowsill instead, then dropped to her knees and began sucking his cock like it was a Slow Poke.
“Ooo, Baby, that feels sooo good,” he moaned.
To intensify the sensation, she gently massaged his balls while deep-throating him. She was sucking, licking, and massaging at such a rapid pace that Sage nearly lost his balance.
He didn’t want to lose control of the situation so he pulled her up by the elbows, turned her around, and lifted up her dress. He was so horny that he didn’t bother taking off her thong; he just moved the thin strip of fabric to the side and eased his cock back into her anal passage. He slowly increased his pace until he was butt-fucking her so fast that her feet left the ground with each thrust.
“Ooooo, yesssss, Baby, that’s it; that’s it,” she sang out in ecstasy.
“Take this dick, you dirty slut.”
“Give it to me, you filthy bastard.”
Sage slapped her ass and rammed her harder. �
��Is this what you want, Bitch?”
“Is that all you got, you fucking nasty ass fuck?”
“You like it rough, uh, Whore?”
“Yeah, Motherfucker, I like it rough. Now fuck me harder, you dirty bastard.”
Sage was going out of his mind with lust and desire. He loved talking dirty, and Missy knew just what to say to drive him over the edge. He grabbed her by the titties and rammed his cock so far up her shit hole that he could feel his sperm-bloated balls slapping against her inner thighs. Sage felt his army of sperm on the verge of escaping, so he set them free and exploded deep within her ripe ass.
“Damn, Baby, you’re the best,” Missy purred, stroking his ego. She knew Sage was the overachiever type, who loved to compete, so she told him just what he wanted to hear. Not that the sex wasn’t good, but in her line of business, she had had better.
“Am I?” Sage asked, seeking another compliment.
“Oh, Baby, believe me, you definitely know how to work that big dick of yours. You had me cumming so many times I could hardly catch my breath,” she said, laying the compliments on thick. Missy knew the fastest way to separate a man from his money was good sex, and giving him kudos on his prowess afterward.
Sage smiled proudly, as if he’d just won Olympic Gold. “I’d love to stay and give you more of this pole”—he grabbed his crotch for emphasis—“but I need to take a shower and get back to the office.” He pulled her close, kissed her on the neck, and took a whiff of her perfume, which smelled sweet like fresh-cut flowers.
“There’re clean towels on the counter, and a brand-new bottle of Molton Brown shower gel in the shower rack, and there’s lotion on the counter.” Sage was the ultimate metrosexual and loved expensive bath products, so Missy kept his favorite toiletries on hand.
Sage grabbed his clothes off the back of the sofa and went into the bathroom. Twenty minutes later he reemerged looking as fresh as a spring day. The tailored, dove gray suit hugged his shoulders ever so slightly, and the handmade, stark white shirt accentuated his pecs perfectly. His high-powered executive look was completed with a rose pink silk tie, tied in a thick Windsor knot.
