The Star

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The beautiful young woman called Samantha Pennywhistle sat in front of the opal mirror of the modestly decorated hotel room and carefully applied her lipstick. She pursed her lips together and, reaching for her hairbrush softly stroked her recently shampooed hair until her locks shone with radiant flair. Placing the brush to one side of the September edition of ‘Silver Screen’ Samantha adjusted the low neck line in her hired purple crepe gown so that a teasingly amount of her perfumed cleavage peeked from behind the beaded collar. The fake pearl necklace around her neck complimented her sumptuous boobs perfectly, though she was unsure if she should wear it or not, current fashion be damned.

Getting to her feet Samantha slipped on two arm length, soft white leather gloves and pressed the gown down over her curvaceous body which was poured into the gown. She turned to the mirror and examined her ass which rode the taut material like a second skin; jeez, how sexy was that? Or was the dress one size too small? Yes, it was rented, but if she if accomplished what she set out to do here today then she could open an account at Bloomingdale’s and have all the clothes she wanted. As Samantha walked across the room, balancing herself in the high heels her best friend had lent her, she felt the suspender holding up black stockings on her right thigh rustle against the tight gown. Cursing under her breath, she lifted her foot onto the seat in front of the vanity mirror and lifted her gown to adjust her discomfort. No sooner had she done so, her almost naked, stocking thigh exposed for the world to see than a male voice behind her said, “Now there’s a welcome worthy of Ava Gardner!”

Startled, Samantha dropped her leg and clamoured the folds of the gown over her leg. She looked over to the open door to see a stocky, flashy-suit wearing, cigar-smoking fellow grinning from ear-to-ear as he leant, cock-sure, against the door post.

“Don’t be scared, little lady,” the stranger said, closing the door behind him, locking it, too, “I’m the guy you’re here to meet.”

“So you’re Mister — “

“Steadman, that’s right,” he replied, taking off his hat and flinging it onto the neatly made yet untouched double bed. It landed with a soft thud. His bald plate was contrasted with a neatly trimmed beard beneath his square chin. “I see you found the place,” he commented.

Samantha thought; what an odd thing to say. “Yes, as you said, just two minutes from the train station.”

“Fancy a drink?” he asked her, rummaging though the drink’s cabinet.

“No, no thank you,” she replied. This wasn’t a date.

“So, toots,” he said, as he poured himself a bourbon, “you wanna be a star.”

“I’d like to be in pictures, yes,” Samantha answered, sitting back down on the vanity chair. She placed her hands on her knees, as if she were in Church.

“Sure you would,” Steadman said, taking a sip from his glass, “but lemme tell yer, it’s not an easy business to get into”. He stubbed his cigar out on a clean glass ashtray.

“I’m aware of that,” Samantha said, though she wasn’t, really. This was all new to her — new but very, very exciting.

“You gotta have something special to get into movies,” Steadman continued, “or, alternatively, you gotta know the right person, which is why I’m here.”

He was but a phone call away, this talent scout, Samantha calling Steadman’s Agent to the Stars agency once she hit Big City. It was a cliché, but as long as she could remember she had always wanted to be a star. Veronica Lake, Ingrid Bergman, Lauren Bacall, she admired and loved and lived their lives up on the silver screen and one day swore that she would join them.

“I can’t thank you enough for seeing me,” Samantha said.

“Hey, as soon as I saw your photo with your letter,” he replied, smiling, “I knew I had to see you.”

“Thank you,” Samantha blushed. This was going well, wasn’t it?

“So, down to business,” Steadman said, finishing his drink, “did you find the script I left for you?”

“Of course,” she said, producing a few stapled pages from the inside of a ‘Silver Screen’ magazine. She had arrived an hour earlier so had time to read over her lines before getting ready for her meeting. “Would you like me to start at the top?”

“Sure,” Steadman shrugged, “it’s as good a place to start as any.”

“And you’ll play Eddie?”

“That’s bahis firmaları how it works.”

“Ok …” she began.

“And you’re comfortable with kissing me? The script does call for it.”

Samantha blushed. “Yes, Mr. Steadman,” she replied, smiling, her face flushed. If this wasn’t a professional setting she wouldn’t mind kissing him, regardless. He was cute.

Samantha gently coughed and readied herself for her big chance. Standing up, she stole a glance at the title of the script; a film noir entitled Light at the End of the Tunnel. From what she could gather she would be playing, if she was offered the part, a woman called Nancy Pickle, the worried girlfriend of the main character who becomes involved with mobsters. Very riveting!

“But Eddie!” she suddenly exclaimed, launching into character, “you can’t go back, I won’t let you!”

“You can’t talk me out of it this time, Nance,” Steadman retorted, dry as the Sahara, “there’re men out there who play for keeps, and if I don’t show my face they’ll keep me from breathing.”

“Come away with me, Eddie!” Samantha pleaded, she holding her hands together, a look of desperate anguish upon her face, “somewhere, anywhere; they won’t find us if we run, if we hide, oh Eddie, I’m begging you!”

“They’d find us — they always get their man.”

“We could go to the Police, we could tell them everything!”

“Don’t you understand?” Steadman said, “They own the Police. I’m good as dead either way.”

“What can we do?” Samantha asked.

“I’m sorry, Nance,” Steadman muttered, approaching her, “but I have no choice. I have to face Mad-Dog Mulligan tonight.”

“Oh Eddie!” Samantha sobbed, turning to face the mirror, burying her hands in her face. She never noticed the casting agent move into her, his groin pressed hard against her ass, his hands around her waist. “Tell me you want me, Nancy!” he breathed, heavily, his lips grazing against her neck.

Samantha was confused. This wasn’t in the script, or at least, he prodding her like this wasn’t. She wouldn’t mind kissing him, so she played along, regardless. “Of — of course I do, Eddie,” she said, cautiously.

“So how about you showing me what you got hidden away in the dress, huh, doll-face?” he said, reaching for her breasts, his palms covering them, squeezing gently.

“Mr. Steadman!” Samantha protested, trying to push him away. “W-what’s the meaning of this?”

“Come on,” the roguish talent scout said, backing away from her, smiling, “surely you don’t think I came here to listen to you rehearse?”

“But I –“Samantha said, covering her breasts with the script, “I thought we were going to, to –“before noticing that he had a hard-on beneath his pants.


It suddenly started to make sense. To get a piece of the Golden Pie she would have to give him a part of her piece, and that she was going to have to put out. This momentarily stunned her. No, it angered her. That she came all this way, her hopes built up, expecting some professionalism … but who was she kidding? Samantha had heard about such ‘auditions’, had heard the rumours of casting couches and the like, but she never thought she’d end up on one.

“You gonna burst into tears and leave,” Steadman asked her, unsympathetically, “or are you gonna stick around and have a shot at the big time?”

Some choice; was she prepared to go ahead with it? Could she — would she? Was she that desperate for stardom that she was willing to whore her self to this stranger? Did she want it that bad?

“That’s right, doll,” Steadman said, reading her indecisiveness, unzipping his flies before boldly exposing his cock. “We gonna have some fun before we get down to business, or what?”

Samantha glanced at his cock. He had a nice prick. It was big and thick and circumcised. She was no slut, but she wasn’t a virgin, either. Would it be so bad, she thought?

“Mr. Steadman, I can assure you that I’m not accustomed to such behaviour,” she said. She sat on her chair with her back to the vanity mirror and crossed her legs, purposely revealing her stocking thigh.

“I know that,” he said, approaching her, his fat erection bobbing in the air. “But what you gotta ask yourself is this: Just how big a star do you want to be? If you’re nice to me, and I think you know what I mean by being ‘nice’, then I’ll put you kaçak iddaa on the road to fortune and fame.”

Steadman stood mere centimetres from her. The tip of his bulbous knob was almost bumping against her nose. “I’m not that kind of girl,” Samantha said, though not convincingly.

“Well, think on this,” he continued, taking his cock in hand and pulling upon his shaft, “how do you think Betsy Donovan got to where she was?” Betsy Donovan was currently the hottest star of the day. A Goddess of Nordic Beauty, to quote her press release, the 22-year old could act Davis out of the water. She may not last — many a potential star faded from sight – but right now everyone loved her and wanted to be her.

This impressed Samantha. “You mean you … and Betsy Donovan?”

“That’s right, toots,” he replied. “Not many guys can say they had Betsy Donovan on her knees sucking their cock.”

This man was truly vulgar, yet if Betsy Donovan could pleasure this bestial creature for fame and fortune, why couldn’t she?

“I see,” she said, smiling, biting her bottom lip. “I suppose it couldn’t hurt.”

Steadman, holding his cock, gently smeared the mushroomed dome off her nose, and down towards her now out-stretched tongue. “Of course not, babe,” he smirked. He hissed as Samantha lashed out at his rigid shaft, rolling her tongue around the smooth tip. Instantly she sucked him into her mouth, using her tongue as a soft, wet pillow. Wrapping her red lips around his meat she sucked hard, bobbing her head back and forth along his great length.

“That’s it,” Steadman groaned, taking handfuls of her hair and drawing her deeper onto his cock. Samantha couldn’t decide whether she was sucking him or he was fucking her mouth.

His hands were all over her. Through the fabric of her dress her nipples poked teasingly. Steadman caressed and played with them before slipping her breasts from her gown. Between his thumb and finger he pinched her nipples, making them even harder. All the while Samantha gobbled greedily upon his saliva-sticky prick.

“Goddamn …” Steadman groaned, approvingly.

Samantha spat his cock from her mouth and grabbed it in her gloved hand, slapping it off her cheeks and tongue. “Did she suck your cock like this?” she asked him.

“No, fuck no!” he replied.

“Can I suck cock better than Betsy Donovan?” she demanded to know, once more swallowing his length. She gazed up at him as she slurped upon his taut erection.

“Oh yeah, baby!” Steadman wheezed, prodding the back of her throat. God, was this slut going to be a huge fucking star!

Letting him spill from her mouth Samantha pulled the beaded neckline from her shoulders to scoop her boobs from beneath her dress. Here she gathered his prick between her beauteous breasts and wrapped her warm, perfumed melons around his shaft. Steadman wasted no time fucking them, sliding his glistening cock between her clutching boobs. Samantha raised her hair as he grasped her breasts and thrust forward, his cock slippery between her mountainous mounds.

“Fuck my tits!” she commanded him, enjoying the sensation of his cock jammed before her. Now and then she would reach down and lash out at his pre-cum leaking tip with her tongue, he leaving his shaft in place where she could suck him into her mouth. As it slipped from between her wet, clutching valley, Samantha spat upon his cock before licking the gooey glob with her tongue.

“Stand up, baby,” Steadman growled, backing away from her, he undoing his pants as he spoke, “I wanna fuck you real bad!”

Samantha did as she was told, unzipping her dress from behind her back as she did so. The purple crepe gown slid elegantly down her curvaceous form, revealing a lingerie-delight of stockings, garter belt and matching French knickers.

“Gorgeous,” he commented, now undoing his tie as Samantha stepped out of her dress, kicking it to one side, before bending over the drawer, presenting her ass to him. Steadman was upon her immediately, pulling the knickers from her smooth flesh, she gently swaying her hips as he did so. Once they lay crumpled around her ankles Samantha discarded them with her high heel as she then parted her stocking legs, Steadman running his fingertips up the length of her inner thighs. Wasting no time he pierced her wet slit with his tongue, his nose brushing off her hot buttock. Samantha kaçak bahis shuddered as his tongue wormed its way into her, lapping at her velvet lips, his mouth sucking the honey which flowed in great pulses from her. Periodically his tongue would lick and stab her asshole, his thick fingers penetrating her dripping cunt, God, what a brute! She reached behind her to pull apart her buttocks, allowing him wider access into her sticky flesh. His tongue, a miniature, mini-prick, fucked both her holes with gusto.

“Fuck me, Mr. Steadman” she demanded, “fuck me hard!”

Samantha felt the tip of his circumcised dome nudge against her wet slit, she imagining him holding onto the thick shaft and teasingly rubbing it off her soppy lips. He slowly pressed forward; first his knob entering her, the sensation wondrous, before he pushed home his entire length, every fucking inch of him, balls deep. His pulsating cock within her was overwhelming to say the least, and Samantha cried out once he began fucking her. His hands gripping her hips, with great, long strokes his cock slid in and out of her sticky puss, his balls swinging below him, bashing against her ass.

“Fuck yeah, babe!” he grunted, Steadman reaching below her to palm her jutting breasts. Samantha enjoyed his hands upon her, her nipples being mauled between his fingers. His big cock throbbed majestically within her. She couldn’t help but wonder if he had taken Betsy Donovan like this?

“I love your cock in me,” she told him, looking over her shoulder at the casting agent. He still wore his white shirt; it was unbuttoned all the way, his powerful chest and taut tummy exposed.

“So fucking tight!” he said, hammering home his prick. Without warning he brought his open palm down hard upon her buttocks, the whack resonating around the room. Samantha’s ass stung, but she loved it so.

He reached for her hair and pulled her hair back, his lips feasting upon her neck, her shoulders, even the fake pearl necklace. Lunging deep within her Steadman’s hands gripped her wobbling breasts and squeezed them, hard. Samantha reached her first orgasm this way.

Withdrawing from her, Steadman told her to sit upon the vanity mirror drawer. Samantha did so, her stocking thighs apart, opening her slit with her gloved hands as he stepped into her, penetrating her honey-pot once more. The drawer shook with the force of an earthquake as Steadman fucked her upon it, her copy of ‘Silver Screen’, her make-up accessories, her hair brush and the discarded script spilling onto the carpeted hotel room floor. Samantha’s loud groans seemingly spurned the incorrigible casting agent on, he gazing lustfully upon her curvaceous form. She pulled him towards her, her fingernails scraping his muscular shoulders, her thighs wrapped around his jack-hammer-like waist.

“Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me!” she cried, climaxing once more, throwing her head back, her hair flaying against the glass of the mirror. His cock, his beautiful cock was dancing the tango in her pussy and waltzing with her clit.

“You fuck better than Betsy Donovan!” Steadman announced, out of the blue.

“Really?” Samantha asked him, genuinely astonished.

“Yeah, oh yeah babe, you’re gonna be a huge star, a big fucking star!”

“Your cock is a star!” she told him, wildly.

“Let me come on you,” he growled, his prick swelling within her. Samantha squeezed his fat cock with her pussy, felt his meat pulsating with delicious cum. She wanted it all over her.

“Please, yes,” she wheezed, “come on my face, you wonderful man!”

Steadman withdrew from her, pulling on his sticky, glistening length. Samantha sprang from the drawer and sunk to her knees, she reaching for Steadman’s balls with her tongue. They tasted of her honey, she savouring the flavour greedily.

“Ladies and gentleman,” Steadman groaned, his orgasm imminent, he vigorously shafting his fat, throbbing prick, “I present to you, Hollywood’s newest, brightest star, Samantha … Pennywhistle!” And then he came.

Samantha’s face was suddenly splattered with a white, creamy deluge of cum, her out-stretched tongue tingling with the salty tang. His climax was immense, and groaning before her Steadman emptied his balls onto the flushed face of the starlet to-be, who slurped and sucked upon his tacky cock with sluttish fervour.

Her gloves stained with saliva and cum, Samantha held his now flabby prick and, gazing into Steadman’s face through half-closed, cum-stung eyes breathed a “Thank you! Thank you, fans!” with the exhilarated zeal of an acceptance speech.


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