Message-ID: <20613eli$9903170432@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: From: MichaelD38@aol.com Subject: Celestial RP: {MichaelD} "Stroke Story" (celeb, satire) (1/2) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded X-Story-Submission: X-Original-Message-ID: <843ef8e0.36eeca70@aol.com> IMPORTANT LEGAL INFORMATION If you have received this work in your e-mail box and do not know why, it is because your Internet service provider is forwarding posts from Usenet newsgroups to your account. It has *NOT* been e-mailed to you by the author. You must contact your ISP for help. This story is a complete work of fiction and a satirical one at that. Although numerous real people, places, and organizations are referenced here, the actions described herein are entirely fictional. No relationship exists, is intended, or should be inferred. If you're one of these people, go read "Hustler v. Falwell" before calling your lawyer, okay? This work contains explicit descriptions of sexual activity, and anyone offended by such things should read no further. If reception of this work is illegal due to your age or other repressive local regulations, liability for downloading it is your problem, not mine. This work is intended solely for the quiet and private enjoyment of adults, and any other use is a violation of the copyright. This work is Copyright 1998 by MichaelD38@aol.com and is protected by United States and other international copyright law. Reposting and archiving is permitted, except where a fee of any sort is required or earned for access, provided this disclaimer and note remain attached to the story. All other rights, specifically rights of commercial use, are reserved. Commercial use here is defined to include posting on membership web sites, banner-funded web sites, and those protected by fee-based age validation methods (such as Adultcheck and Adultsights). However, exception is specifically made for web sites (such as DejaNews) that provide archiving and access to all Usenet posts in a particular group without editing or selection for content. No modifications may be made to this story without express permission from the author. Any questions regarding use of this work can be directed to the address above. Failure to contact the author prior to use is presumptive evidence of bad faith and may expose you to significant criminal and civil liability. AUTHOR'S NOTE I'm reposting this thing because of my discussion of it in Meta-Reviews 2. If you want author's notes, go and read that post. Note: with the speed at which the entertainment world moves, some of the references in here have already become obsolete since I wrote this a few months ago. Don't feel the need to write me about it, eh? Intelligent comments and criticisms will receive appropriate responses. Flames and juvenile slobbering go straight to the recycling bin. STROKE STORY Copyright 1998 by MichaelD38@aol.com I. I was having a good dream. Really. I was on Letterman with Demi Moore; we were having a good time, cracking jokes, talking about that movie we did a few years back. I was funnier than Dave, and I could tell he was getting annoyed. Letterman said something about how that article in "People" might come back to haunt me, and I said, "Hey Dave, at least the girls who stalk me don't look like they crawled out from under a rock," and everyone laughed. Demi even leaned over and suggested we get together later, what with Bruce out of the way now. Then I woke up. Or rather, someone woke me up. I lifted the pillow off my face, seeing a long cascade of blonde hair swinging around as the head it was attached to sat up. The girl stretched, standing up, and I admired the rear view, the tight little curves of her naked butt as she stood up in front of the window. It was early, but I could still see some kids out surfing. She turned around, and the front view was pretty nice, too. Her tits were fake, but the doctor had done a good job with them. "Hi." "Hey," I groaned. "Did I wake you up?" "Yeah." "Sorry." "Where's your friend?" "In the shower. I was about to join her." She grinned. "Wanna come?" I stretched out in my king-sized bed, popping a few joints. "In a minute. What was your name again?" "Stayci. With a 'y' and an 'i.'" "And your friend?" "Jessica." "Oh. Yeah." I watched her walking into the bathroom, and the previous night came back to me. I'd met them at some club back down PCH in Pacific Palisades. They were cute, but nothing unusual. Most days in Malibu, you can throw a rock at the beach and hit ten of them. I climbed out of bed, stepping on last week's copy of "People." "The Sexiest Man on Earth." Gawd. The copy wasn't mine; these two minxes had had it, and asked me to autograph it before suggesting we come back here. When I walked into the bathroom, Stayci and Jessica were in the big walk-in shower together, soaping each other up eagerly. The glass tile made it a little hard to see, but it looked like they were having a lot of fun. Jessica was a near carbon-copy of Stayci, except she had red hair. I took a long piss and stepped over to the shower door. The two girls were holding each other, Stayci playing with Jessica's tits, Jessica with her hand between Stayci's legs. They both looked at me, smiling lasciviously, and kissed, watching my reaction. I was hard before climbed into the shower with them, and harder afterward. They pulled me to them, and I kissed one, then the other, groping at random breasts and buttocks. Stayci dropped to her knees, taking most of me into her mouth. She gulped, pulling me closer, and swallowed what was left. She had done this repeatedly last night, and though she claimed to be a model, I had begun to suspect she might also have done some time as a porn actress. As Stayci deep-throated me, I played with Jessica. She was wet and soapy, and I could feel the bags of silicone in her tits. I slipped a finger between her neatly trimmed labia and began masturbating her. I felt Stayci reaching under my balls, then sliding a finger into my ass. She found my prostate and massaged it as she worked my cock in and out of her throat. I groaned into Jessica's mouth, and worked another finger inside her. She held me, nails digging into my arm. Stayci was going to end this pretty quickly the way she was going, so I pulled her off and pulled her up to join us. The three of us kissed together, tongues working in every direction. I turned Stayci around to lean against the glass tile wall, then reached under her to slip myself into her bald pussy. Jessica reached between us, fondling both of us at once, then dropped to the floor, crawling around in front of Stayci. Her hands gripped Stayci's butt, and I soon felt her licking at us where I was fucking Stayci. Getting it from both directions, Stayci quickly lost it. I thrust at her roughly, lifting her off the shower floor. She began crying out like the porn star I suspected she was, although her arousal hardly seemed faked. She reached down with one hand to pull Jessica closer, and Jessica attacked her even more eagerly. She let out a final screech, and her legs buckled as she came. She slipped out from between us, and I stepped back to sit on the tile bench along the back of the shower. Jessica crawled forward, and took me into her mouth, licking Stayci's juices off me. Stayci dropped to her knees to watch us, catching her breath, as Jessica bobbed rapidly on my cock. A few moments later, she crawled around behind Jessica, sliding up between her legs to lick at her as she sucked me. Now Jessica's movements became more urgent and less controlled. She bobbed faster, whining through her nose. I looked down around her to where Stayci was working, and saw the blonde girl with her tongue most of the way inside Jessica. I tried to pace myself, controlling my arousal to match hers. When she began to convulse in orgasm, I took her head and moved it for her to finish myself off, squirting long gooey ribbons of come into her mouth. To her credit, her lips remained locked on my cock, and she took it all. She kept sucking weakly in the aftermath of her orgasm, and worked out the last of my come with her fist. Stayci reappeared next to us, and pulled Jessica over to kiss her, sucking my come out of her mouth. II. The girls left after that, and I went back to bed. Then the phone rang. "Hello?" "Hey, it's me, and what the fuck are you doing at home?" "Uh, Sy?" "Yeah, we had a breakfast meeting with those jerks from Paramount, remember? I got them sitting at the table right now. Don't tell me you fucking forgot." "Oh, shit. Sorry. I was out late last night. Where are you?" "At Michael's in Santa Monica. How fast can you get down here?" "Uh, give me fifteen minutes." "Okay, I'll try to hold them." "What was this about again?" "That Bruckheimer script I sent you. Don't even fucking tell me you didn't read it." "Uh, okay, I won't." "Fuck! Try to read it on the way over here, okay?" "Okay. I'll see you in a few." I found a reasonably clean pair of jeans in my closet, and pulled a T-shirt on over them. The script Sy had sent me was in the kitchen, where it had lain for the last week after his messenger dropped it off. I grabbed it on the way out, pulling on some sunglasses, and jumped into my NSX. I swung out onto PCH, hitting 75 in about six seconds, dodging the late Friday morning traffic. I ran the light at Malibu Canyon Drive as I tried to read the script. Another cop movie. Gunfights, explosions, drug dealers, half-naked chicks running around. Typical Bruckheimer stuff. I tossed it on the floor and slammed the car down into second gear as I swung around a Range Rover. I narrowly missed a little Honda running the light at Topanga, then raced down the hill to the beach. The light at Sunset was green, although I came close to hitting a couple of jaywalking surfers. I went up the incline to Ocean, passed Wilshire, and pulled into Michael's. The valet took the car, and I walked into the foyer. The maitre d' intercepted me immediately. "This way, Mr. McDonald." I followed him out to the patio, where Sy was waiting with two guys in sport jackets and T-shirts. They stood up and shook my hand. "Bret, this is Simon Harris and Phil Cohen." I nodded as I sat down. "Nice to meet you." A waitress appeared at my side. She looked like another aspiring actress, long chestnut hair, big brown eyes, nice tits. "What can I get you?" "Your phone number." She blushed, grinning. "Just kidding, hon. Get me a Bloody Mary, double shot, with a Corona on the side." I watched the girl's butt as she left, then looked back at the table. Harris and Cohen were sitting patiently. "Let me convey Mr. Bruckheimer's apologies for not being able to be here this morning," Harris said. "He's in the middle of production on 'Vegas Takedown.'" "So I heard." "Did you have a chance to look at the script?" Cohen asked. "I took a look at it. Looks like another 'Beverly Hills Cop.'" "That's close to what we have in mind, but we're thinking 'Lethal Weapon' with a guy and girl instead of a white guy and a black guy." "Who's going to do the female lead?" "We're talking to a few people." "I need to know if I'm going to give this consideration." They glanced at each other, then at Sy, who remained impassive. "We've been talking to Peta Wilson and Neve Campbell." "Nikita. Huh. She'd be good. I've never met her." "Campbell sounds a little young for that kind of role," Sy said. The waitress appeared with my drinks, and I gave her another wink. She smiled again, and gave me a glance back before she went through the door into the restaurant. "We're hoping to go after the youth market with this," Harris said. I gulped down the Bloody Mary, then took a swig of the beer. "Well, get Nikita, and I'll do it. Otherwise, talk to Sy. I got to go." I stood up, and they leapt to their feet. I shook their hands and patted Sy on the back on the way past. Inside the restaurant, I looked for the waitress. Leo was eating breakfast with a couple of chicks, and I gave him a wave. "Let's get together some time." Yeah, right. Not after I'd usurped his position with that article in "People." Back by the register, I found the girl totaling a bill. She looked up when I approached, startled, then smiled. "Hey." "Hi." "What's your name?" "Simone." "You an actress, Simone?" "Uh, sort of. Not like you, but I did a couple of commercials." I leaned in, getting very close. I could see the flush spreading over her face, the thrill in her eyes. "Do you get breaks, Simone? Like could you spare five or ten right now?" Her jaw dropped, and her eyes swelled. She bit her lip. Then she grabbed my hand, glancing around us, and pulled me down the hallway behind us. "In here." She pulled me into a storeroom, locking the door, and practically jumped into my arms. I kissed her roughly, groping at her ass and tits. Her tits felt real, oddly enough, and I pulled up the front of her blouse to get at them. She pulled it the rest of the way off, then reached behind her to unsnap her bra. I took both tits in my hands, squeezing. Mmm. My, my. Most definitely real. I bent down to suck on them, and she held my head, moaning, pulling at my T-shirt. I let her pull it off and went back to her tits. I sucked on them hard, biting them, pulling on the nipples with my teeth. All she did was moan. She pulled my head up, kissing me again, and I continued manhandling her breasts. I always worry about popping the fake ones, so getting real ones this nice was a treat. She bent down, sucking at my nipples, then dropped to her knees in front of me. She dug my cock out of my jeans and popped it into her mouth. I let her suck on me for a few minutes, watching her brown-haired head bobbing up and down. I pulled her up, reaching under her skirt to shove down her panties, then lifted her up, setting her on some boxes behind her. "Oh, shit," she moaned. "Oh, my God." She spread her legs as I moved in, wrapping them around me. I slipped into her, finding her already sopping wet. She put her arms around my shoulders, knees up at my armpits, kissing me frantically. She held onto me and let me work. Having just serviced Stayci and-- what was her name?--Jessica an hour ago, I had plenty of control and concentrated on getting her off. She laid her head on my shoulder, gasping, as I stroked in and out of her. I worked the base of my cock against her clit repeatedly, and she was soon shuddering against me. She bit my neck, moaning. I sped my thrusts, bringing her off again a minute later, finally pumping so hard that I lifted her off the boxes as I came. She whimpered as my come spurted into her, and slowly relaxed. "God," she moaned. "Jesus. Jesus, God." I withdrew and began getting dressed. "Um, would you mind, like, could I maybe get your autograph? Or something? Because my roommate will never believe this otherwise." I grinned. "Got a pen?" "Yeah." She found her apron and pulled a felt-tip pen out of it. I went up to her, took her left tit in my hand, and signed my name on it. She laughed nervously. "Jeez. Wait 'til she sees this." I kissed her forehead. "Thanks. Catch you later." "Bye." III. I drove back home much more sedately, not running any lights. When I got up to Topanga, the light was red, and as I sat waiting, a trio of teenage girls walked through the crosswalk in front of me. One of them glanced over, got a good look at me, and grabbed her friends. She pointed at me, and I leaned out the side window, grinning at them. They squealed. The light changed, and as I drove past them, I waved. "Hey, girls." More squeals followed me up PCH. I thought about swinging back and picking them up, but decided against it. Three on one might be a bit difficult given the morning I had had, and they were probably underage anyway. Not that that would normally have stopped me, but I wasn't in the mood for jailbait right now. I called Sy's car phone as I passed Pepperdine. "Yo." "What'd they say after I left?" "They're going to give Wilson a shot. They really want you for this thing." "What are we talking about moneywise?" "Seven plus two percent." "Nothing less than ten. I heard Leo is getting ten for 'American Psycho.'" "You ain't fucking Leo. Not yet. Get that through your head." "What's the percentage?" "Gross after breakeven." "No chance of first dollar?" He laughed. "Christ, Bret who do you think you are? I swear, that fucking 'People' article went right to your head. And your dick. Don't think I didn't see you dragging that waitress into the back." "Yeah, well, so what? She was hot." "And don't fucking think I don't know why you want Nikita for this thing, either. Bruckheimer's people know it, too. Stop behaving like you're fucking immortal, okay? You're not so hot that you can't fuck up your career by screwing up Jerry Bruckheimer's movie. He's further up the food chain than you are right now." "Ah, blow me. If she's not interested, she'll probably dropkick my ass. What the fuck are they worried about?" "All right, forget that. I got another issue with her. The billing is going to be a problem. She may be hot, but she's just a TV actress. This is supposed to be a buddy picture, and it's going to look a little weird with your name alone above the title twice the size of hers." "So give her equal billing. Who gives a fuck? She'll feel like she owes me something." Sy groaned. "Jesus fucking Christ. What did I do to deserve you for a client? Okay, I'll let them know. Wilson's agent will give birth over this, believe me." I parked my car and went inside. There was a message on my voice mail, which I played while I got a beer out of the fridge. "Hey, stud, it's Amber. I'm in town for a shoot, I thought we could get together. I'm staying at the Beverly Wilshire. Give me a call, okay?" She gave me her room number, then hung up. Amber, Amber. Who the fuck was Amber? Then it hit me--shit!--Amber Valletta. We'd met, gone out, fucked, the last time I was in New York. I'd gone on Letterman to plug my last movie, this rebel-without-a-clue thing I'd done with Matt Damon and Cameron Diaz. Diaz, damn, there was a hot one. Too bad she was hitched. I figured I'd call Amber later, but not too soon. Let her stew for a while. She wasn't the only piece of ass in the world, no matter how hot she was. The phone rang as I was polishing off my beer. "Hey." "It's me again." Sy. "What's up?" "I'm sending over another script. Some Miramax thing. It's a little highbrow, but take a look at it, okay?" "What is it?" "Another Jane Austen thing. Northanger Abbey. They want you for the male lead." "Never heard of it." "Don't worry about it. Just read the damn thing, okay? If you can find time between banging all those groupies." "I'll give it a look." I took a nap, then called Amber. "Hey, sweetness." "Hi. Thanks for calling me back." "Are you kidding? I just got the message. You free for lunch?" "Sure." "Meet me in the bar downstairs. Just give me a half-hour to get there. That'll give you time to get hot." "I'm hot already." "I'll bet you are. Don't wear any panties, okay?" She laughed softly. "What makes you think you're going to know whether I am or not?" "Because I am. I'll see you in a few." I changed shirts, ran some mousse through my hair, and went back out to the garage. I took the Porsche this time--I never use the same car twice in one day--and drove up PCH to Sunset, then up Sunset to Beverly Glen, which I took down to Wilshire. I drove into the garage at the Beverly Wilshire, threw some money at the valet, and went inside. I found her in the bar off the lobby, sitting with a glass of iced tea. Her hair was blonde this month, and she sat there coolly behind a pair of sunglasses like she owned the place. I slid in next to her, kissing her on the cheek. "Hey." "Hi." I reached over, taking off her sunglasses, and stared into those big green eyes. She looked away after a second or two, and I watched the color spreading over her face. "How you doing?" "Stiff. They had me going about twelve hours yesterday." "What's this for?" "Versace. A lot of little slip dresses." She had one of them on, and it didn't look like she much on under it. I reached out and ran a finger up her bare shoulder to her ear. She twitched, pulling away. "So what do you want to do?" she asked. "Well, I was thinking we could either go up the street to that Italian place. Or we could go upstairs and work up an appetite first." The flush intensified, and she looked away, pursing her lips and closing her eyes. "I haven't seen you in three months, and you think you can just walk in here like this and drag me off to bed?" I grinned. "You tell me." She took a breath. I could see her nipples erecting. She stood up, smoothing her dress. "I can't believe I'm doing this. Okay, let's go." I stood up with her, and followed her to her room. I closed the door behind us, and she stepped backward, kicking off her shoes. "We are going to eat afterward. You are not going to take off on me." "Of course. Don't worry." I stepped closer, reaching out to hook my fingers under the spaghetti straps of her dress. I let them fall around her shoulders, and the dress slid off. She had nothing under it. "No panties." She smiled. "You asked." I took her in my arms and kissed her. Like most top models, she was on the thin side, but she was hardly a clothes hanger, either. I lifted her up under her shoulders, pulling her hard little tits to my mouth. She wrapped arms around my head as I walked over to the bed. I laid her down, continuing to suck on her nipples, first one, then the other, until I had them standing up in swollen arousal. I worked my way down, licking the entire way, until I got to her neatly trimmed snatch. I've never really understood this, but nearly every fashion model I've ever met had a thing about having her pussy eaten. Go down on them for fifteen minutes, and they'll practically walk over hot coals for you. And if you know what you're doing when you do, they'll almost sign themselves into slavery over it. I spent a long while working Amber over like that, not even bothering to undress myself. I sucked on her clit, finger-fucked her, nibbled on her lips. Her legs flailed around like she was epileptic, drumming on my back when she came. She clawed at the sheets, braced her arms on the headboard, screeched like a cat in heat. When she finally pushed me off twenty minutes later, I'd reduced her to a sweaty, panting heap of flesh. I stood back, pulling off my T-shirt, then my jeans. She crawled down the bed on all fours, and settled her mouth over my cock. I held my head in her hands, letting her bob up and down for a few minutes. Then I reversed her, taking her from behind as I stood at the end of the bed. She butted herself back at me as I thrust into her, grunting though her teeth. When I slid a thumb up her ass, she let out a throaty groan. "Like that. Fuck me there." I pulled out, working some of her fluids into her ass with my thumb, then slid greasily up her butt. She put her head down on the bed, groaning again. I held her ass in my hands, sliding in and out of her. I reached under her to tweak her clit as I did, and she cried out, beginning to whimper. I sped my thrusts as I felt her approaching orgasm, and when she came, when I felt her sphincter clamping down on me, I let myself go, squirting painfully intense gobs of come up her butt. She fell forward onto the bed, letting me pull out. I caught my breath, then went into the bathroom to clean myself off. When I came back, she was out cold, face down on the bed. I got a beer out of the mini-bar and lay down next to her. I knocked the cap off the beer on the nightstand, and took a long swig. Then I dug a cig out of a pack of Camels I found on the floor and lit it. Amber stirred a few minutes later and reached for the cigarette. I handed it to her and lit another one. She took a slow drag, remaining on her stomach and bunching a pillow up under her shoulders. She stared at me for a few moments, one calf coming up and flopping back and forth. "What?" She blew smoke across the bed. "How many women have you slept with?" "What, today?" She grinned, eyebrows going up. "Today?" "Today, you're number four." She laughed. "Right." "Believe what you want, babe. Let's go eat." We walked up Rodeo to a snooty Italian joint I'd been to a few times. Although it was getting passé, I picked the place because there were always one or two paparazzi hanging out there. Sure enough, some guy with a camera appeared as we approached and snapped a few pictures. "Hey, Bret, can I get good grin?" I smiled slyly at him as Amber hugged my arm. He shot off a few more and we went inside. I didn't care about it, because I knew this was the whole reason Amber had called me--to get a chance to get her picture in the tabloids with me. I knew it; she knew I knew it; I didn't care. We'd done the same thing in New York the last time I saw her. She was a decent fuck, so what were a few pictures? Besides which, people had been linking her and Leo lately--I knew better, though--and I figured this might irk him a little. We ate a long lunch, and I took her back to the hotel. ************************************************* Stroke Story Copyright 1999 by MichaelD38@aol.com Free redistribution permitted, no commercial use without authorization. ************************************************* -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | | | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | ----