|
Page 5.
 So here are we three guys—myself, the camera man (U.K.-Jamaican named Frad, for Frederick), and Helmut, the moonlighting German fashion model—talk about more chiseled looks and beard shadow. We're all watching Jane now as she struts around innocently in her short white dress. Jane was the leggiest woman on the island that day, accentuated by four inch clip clops with daisies on the lasts. A foot person (male or female) could have had a ball just with her legs and feet in those sexy white sandals, especially the way her pert heels rose up, which made her calves more muscular and bunchy.
Jane, five feet eleven, with her wavy golden hair bobbing around her creamy, rounded English face with those gray-blue eyes, is bending over here and there, showing us a patch of white undies and two small buttocks complementing pale, arched hips between which a cunt-crack of daylight was visible even when she held her knees together. All eyes are upon her, languidly getting in the mood for the camera work to come (no pun).
We're all lounging around the room and spread-eagled wherever we landed. There are plenty of those big, plush chairs, whose leather is the color of smoking-lounge chestnut, and studded with brass tacks. And scattered among the chairs is a small forest of potted ferns, areca palms, and other plants. Jane clatters among them with her watering can, saving the world and keeping busy.
Now Jane is standing beside Lorena—bending with her watering can and chatting with Helmut about Swedish candies—when Lorena casually reaches up and touches Jane's panties from underneath and behind. It is a very deliberate, hungry gesture. She rubs Jane's pudenda with a finger laid into the cotton, indented into her ass crack and down along her pussy crack. Her finger move along the edges of the panties, where the elastic pins the cotton against Jane's curly blonde bush; where Jane's hair and generous labia make a bulge in the snowy cotton.
At first Jane doesn't really react. She's expecting to be touched today, so it's just part of the gig. But her eyes briefly shut as a tiny electric pleasure runs through her, and her mouth gets a stretched look like there is a shudder going through her entire body. Helmut still has Jane's attention. Helmut and Jane are back to bright-eyed chatter in a second. Helmut, I might add, has washboard abs, which Jane wanted to get her hands and lips onto (and her bush, rubbing herself to orgasm on his rippling ab muscles; see later in these notes). Helmut wears nothing but tiny dark blue speedies that leave nothing to the imagination about the two oranges between his legs, with a very large, full banana lying on top in an eye-catching curve.
Lorena reminds me of a kid in a candy store, who knows she will get something sweet soon, but cannot wait, and must touch the goodies with her probing fingers.
Lorena is dressed much like Jane, or for that matter also like Dashka—short skirt or shorts, loose blouse, and sandals. Our young women typically arrive with one suitcase, containing their favorite sexy lingerie and toys. They know there are chests and closets full of exciting clothes around the villa. They can take home anything they wish, as long as they eventually bring it back, because a lot of it is used in sex shoots and is part of the business. Jane is wearing a short white skirt, Lorena a short black skirt, and Dashka a pair of loose white shorts like a boy's and a flimsy shift to cover her full boobs. Dashka has a field of orange freckles on her nose, cheeks, arms, and legs, which makes me wonder how many freckles she has on or about her most intimate parts. We will certainly find out, I thought. You may wonder if I have a perpetual hard-on during all this, but the truth is it hurts and you get blue balls, so the trick is to shoot one's built-up wad early in the game and then endure a lingering tingle of sex for the rest of the day (punctuated by more action). The models themselves sometimes get horny—especially the straight ones, during endless girl-girl cuts—and want a little spoon in their coffee, but it's not really approved of. Staff and models are not supposed to mingle in Madame Lussec's operation. That's the guideline, but of course it happens. Professionally, you get so busy creating the best footage possible—because ultimately it's a business, and incredibly competitive—so you focus on the job, not the sex. It's money in the bank, and with that you can party all you want—there are plenty of female tourists in the beach towns, who may tire of the local gigolo population. And, often enough, a horny young model will stray into your bedroom at night, slip wordlessly under the covers head first, and start gumming your dick and balls to an Eiffel Tower erection. What a way to wake up, with her sucking, popping, vacuuming, licking noisily with her mouth and tongue until you are ready to slip inside her cunt and still wonder if you are dreaming.
As Helmut and Jane discuss the relative merits of jellied candies in the Scandinavian countries versus some experience she had with Gummy-Yummies in Amsterdam, Lorena reaches up with her index feature and presses her finger gently against Jane's meringue-like panties, along the bottom of Jane's ass crack. She moves her finger like a little piston, so it rides back and forth in Jane's cunt crack. I began to form the question "Is it damp?" but couldn't quite get the words out because I was spell-bound. Helmut automatically shifted position and rearranged his fruit bowl, no doubt because his software was turning into hardware (as was mine, and Frad's I'm sure). At moments like that, all the men in the room will shift stiffly as their cocks grow erect, and the margins of their journals become to small to contain them.
Lorena had a dreamy, fascinated look as she moved her index finger, her pointing finger, lightly back and forth in Jane's crack, the way a child might toy with a cat. She wetted her lips, the way a cat pre-tastes its food by way of its nose. She imagined what Jane would taste like when fully damp and moaning—a condition Lorena was practiced in creating.
I could see a shudder move through Jane, as she stood still to let Lorena explore. I settled back in my own plush chair, shifted about to make my own fruits more comfortable, in fact to let my own hard-on reach engorged toward my navel. Jane bent her tall figure slightly forward, so that her ass was available to Lorena, and Lorena's finger could easily travel between Jane's cunt and asshole. Jane's small buttocks and long thighs looked soft and delectable.
Lorena licked her finger and continued rubbing it between Jane's legs. She turned her hand palm-up spidered her sensitive and eager fingertips across Jane's private parts.
Was that a shadowed crease in Jane's white panties, or was there some pussy juice sprinkling the cotton with dampness? As always with Team Med, there were lots of youthful hormones in that room, along with sunshine, fresh air from the open side windows, and birds twittering excitedly as if they were part of the action.
Frad looked at me, as if ready to get his big camera rolling if I signaled. I shook my head. The girls were just warming up. It was great, really. They were getting into the spirit of things, rearing to go (no pun intended), and being quite artistic and inventive. By now, watching Lorena lick her lips as she probed gently around Jane's fundament, I had a full hard-on, and I could see Helmut's huge herm standing up as he cupped both hands as if to shelter or hide it.
I glanced at my watch. It was 9:30 in the morning. The light was still good, but deepening with the day's heat. Where the hell were Mina (the makeup girl and general production assistant), and Tony Alfano the sound man?
Lorena pinched Jane's underpants between thumb and forefinger, and tugged. Jane emitted a fun little shriek as Lorena pulled her off balance and toward her. For a moment, I thought we were getting ahead of ourselves. I had the light, I had the video space, and I was ready to roll—but Lorena was just toying. Lorena dropped her left hand to her crotch and slipped two fingers under her pink panties, where she absently rubbed herself—not really masturbation (yet), but idle stimulation with sexy thoughts.
If Frad reached out and did this, I'd tell him to lay off and stick with his camera. I wouldn't touch her either, being the manager and trying to keep things professional the way Madame Lussec demands, or we'd get fired. Though very few people get fired because she picks us all very carefully according to her own secret standards, and the work conditions are among the best in the business, so few staff ever leave. The models—that's a different matter. Very few stay long. The good ones enjoy a period of months or a year, never more than two years except for rare exceptions. Again, Madame Lussec has very strict standards—no drugs or prostitution, very light on alcohol during shoots or parties, and god help anyone who molests one of her girls, so it basically hasn't happened. We did have one casual contract staffer, a Syrian in Paris, who tried to rape one of her models during a shoot in the Montparnasse, and that fellow is still doing time in the very nasty La Santé prison in the French capital.
The little panty incident between Lorena and Jane passed as quickly as it occurred, and we forgot about it when we heard the tooting of Mina's little red Simca outside. Mina and Tony had arrived—the shoot would begin as soon as he had his sound equipment set up.
First, I briefly have to tell something about Madame Lussec, about the island of Lipa with its fine honeys (the bee kind), and her history as a Cold War spy using sex as a weapon.
TOP
Copyright © 2019 by Max Ready. All Rights Reserved.
|
