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Rising Star - 2

"Becca is on my mind"

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Becca, the girl I’d met in Berlin was often on my mind. What had started as a desire simply to get laid, which had been more than successful, had ended up with me hoping I might see her again. Many nights I’d lie in my bed and, eyes closed, use fingers or toys or both to replay in my mind those two nights of fabulous sex. I’d also found I liked her.

My agent, Flick Caterham was throwing another party. They were her networking sessions and this one was a chance for her to get her ‘stars’ (which now included me) to mix with her top targets.

“For Christ’s sake wear something presentable! And definitely not that thing you were wearing when you got caught,” she’d told me over the phone. “Oh, and hope to God that German bitch doesn’t sell her story to the papers.”

‘She was American.” She’d hung up so I said that to the dial tone.

One advantage of having made it as far as I had was that designers wanted their clothes to be seen on red carpets and at fashionable events and I’d been asked by my best mate (Flick’s sister Lilly) to do a favour for a friend of hers. She, Mandy Lord a rising star of fashion, had selected a calf-length number in purple that had a scooped neck, tight waist and full skirt.

“Stockings or tights?” she’d asked.

“Bare legs?”

“Definitely not under that!” Bossy cow.

“OK, stockings then.”

“Wait here.” I waited while she went to a storeroom and returned with a couple of pairs that she thought were suitable and a pair of three-inch heels that matched the frock.

So I arrived at the party in one of London’s big hotels and was immediately grabbed by Lilly.

“You look absolutely gorgeous, darling. Good old Mandy. She’s the business.” She kissed my cheek. “Fashionably late arriving too. You really are becoming the star.”

“My cab was late.”

“Never spoil the illusion. That German girl of yours was gorgeous!”

“American.”

“Whatever. I can see why you made such an ass of yourself. Now, Flick has told Hattie to chaperone you tonight to make sure you don’t make a tit of yourself. But there is one little someone I want you to meet.”

“If you’re matchmaking...”

“Would I? Anyway, she’s an exotic.” That, for Lilly, meant foreign and probably not white. “She was at Uni with me and she’s from Ceylon.”

“Isn’t it called Sri Lanka now?” I asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous. Anyway, her father was something very grand, diplomatic I think and she studied Politics and now works for the Foreign Office although she did a few years in America, poor darling. She’s as queer as a rabbit with two heads of course.”

“Of course.” When Lilly was in full flood there was no point trying to stem her flow.

“Well, you go and behave yourself. Find Hattie and let her lead you through all the glad-handing then I’ll introduce you.”

“Lilly...”

“Must dash darling. There’s an absolutely gorgeous man who is holding a glass of champagne and a candle for me and one simply can't let him wait too long.” And she was gone, her long legs carrying her through the throng imperiously as she sought out her next victim, poor sod.

Hattie was one of Flick’s small army of stunners whose purpose in life is to keep clients, males mostly, onside by flashing tits, legs, etcetera at them. She was as straight as a plumb line and a huge disappointment to me since I had fancied her from the moment I first met her. No chance though. She sinuously worked her way through the assembled great and good of the business, her eyes set on me like a hawk’s.

“Don’t tell me,” I said. “You’ve turned queer and want to take me away from all this to live together on a paradise island.”

“The thought never crossed my mind,” she said, kissing my cheek. “Nice frock. Lord’s great isn’t she? Now listen. Flick’s working on getting you a part in a film directed by Michael Gordon. He’s here and he’s dying to meet you. We are going to ‘bump into him’ accidentally and you’re going to charm his socks off and not be some dyke activist.”

“What’s the part?”

“Buggered if I know. It’s an earner is all Flick’s told me, so behave.” Her arm through mine, she led me like a prisoner around the room until she hissed in my ear, “There, blue suit. Michael Gordon.”

“Isn’t he a director?” I asked as if she’d never mentioned him.

“Don’t be such a tit. If you’re not sparkling for him I shall tell Flick.”

“Michael, darling.” Hattie moved to his side and kissed his cheek. She had to bend down for that since he was shorter than me and I feared her tits might spill and suffocate the poor man.

“Hattie, lovely as ever. Have you met my wife Marta?” Marta was an Eastern European blonde of the sort who find men like Michael (that is to say unattractive, short and loaded) amazingly attractive. She looked sulky. I decided to charm her and, through her, win Michael’s approval since in my view pretty much anything was better than trying to charm the obnoxious little squirt himself.

“Marta, I’m Faye Millerton. So lovely to meet you.” I offered my hand and she took it with little grace. Her sulky mouth turned down even further if that were possible.

“I love your dress!” I said brightly although to be perfectly honest it was a hideous confection, about twenty years too young for her and six inches too short. This arch flattery did though seem to cheer her up a bit.

“And I love yours too – is it a Mandy Lord?” Was I the only one alive who hadn’t heard of Lord until recently. Her voice betrayed her European roots.

“Clever you,” I said. “My friend Lilly is a close friend of hers so she persuaded her to do the honours for me.”

“You are very fortunate to have such friends.” I agreed and was about to ask who had made her dress but suspected it might have come from Tesco so didn’t.

“You’re so tall and beautiful, you’d look great in anything. Have you lived in England long?”

“Michael and I live in Hollywood mostly. I don’t like it so much. I’d prefer to live here but Michael’s business means he has to be there.”

“Some people would give anything to swap with you.”

Now, I didn’t see anything ambiguous in that but it must have hit the very bullseye of Michael Gordon’s ego-spot because he turned his full gaze on me and said, “I doubt Marta would swap me, even for someone as beautiful as you.”

Hattie smiled her perfect smile. “She meant Hollywood, not you, Michael darling.”

I offered him my hand and he took it for a rather long time. His palm was moist, weak and his eyes like those of a lizard.

“Felicity has told me a lot about you.”

“Don’t believe a word. She’s hated me ever since I taught her sister, Lilly, to smoke dope.”

He actually laughed and so did Marta. “I assure you all she’s said was good. Have you ever played a villain?”

“I have actually. My last job was a tv show. I played a German terrorist during the 1970s. She was a psychopath revolutionary. Flick said I was almost perfect for it.”

He laughed again and Hattie, I noticed, almost applauded me. “Almost?”

“Well, my character, Ulrike, was a double-first student from Oxford and Flick said I have the brains of a tortoise; apart from that though the part might have been written for me," I said.

“That,” said Marta, “is very unkind.”

“It’s what passes for humour amongst Brits.”

Gordon squeezed my hand. “I’m looking for a villainess. She has to be ruthless, sadistic, amoral but also the sort of woman people find magnetically attractive.”

“Sounds perfect for Flick,” I said. “If not, she’ll know someone.”

We all laughed and it took all my acting skills to pretend to find him pleasant enough to talk to. Marta had brightened up a bit and said that if ever I were in Hollywood we should get together and have a girls’ night out. I said how very much I’d love that but that my chances of getting to Hollywood were slim.

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Another squeeze of my hand as Gordon said, “Maybe. Maybe not.”

Hattie apologised for having to drag me away but there were a couple of people I simply had to meet, please excuse us and so on. The sweaty hand seemed reluctant to let mine go but somehow we were away and I was dragged almost to find Flick.

“She was perfect, Flick, darling,” said Hattie. “She had Gordon and his Barbie eating out of her hand.”

“Oh God. You didn’t make a pass at his wife did you?”

“Well, she is very pretty. What’s a girl supposed to do?”

Flick would have stabbed me if she’d had a knife but Hattie assured her I had behaved impeccably so she calmed down. “Well done, Hattie. Now, my sister is looking for you.”

“Your sister is trying to fix me up.”

“Lilly is always trying to fix you up, and me, come to think of it. Ever since she divorced her ghastly husband she’s become a one-woman dating agency. Trouble is she tries most of them out first!”

My phone vibrated and I excused myself and went to a side room. The caller was Becca, the American butch I’d met in Berlin.

“Becca? How lovely to hear from you. How’s Berlin?”

“No idea.” I heard a little chuckle. “I’m in London.”

“Oh God, how wonderful. Will you have time to meet me?”

“Of course. I’m here working for a few weeks. I hoped you meant what you said about calling you?”

“I really did. I’m at a do I cant get out of tonight but I’ll be free tomorrow. We’ll have to be discreet though. My agent went potty when the picture of us appeared in the paper.”

“I get that. Why don’t you come to my hotel?”

“I’d love you to come to my place. Why don’t you check out for a few days and come and stay with me?”

“You’re sure?”

“Absolutely certain.”

I gave her the address and she said she’d be with me around seven the following evening which was perfect. I felt a definite tingle between my thighs and knew I’d have to deal with that when I got home later. I really couldn’t concentrate on the remainder of Flick’s party but I did my best until around twelve when I made an excuse of a non-existent headache and made my way home. Lilly was furious because she hadn’t introduced me to her ‘exotic’ but that was tough.

When the car dropped me off I locked up and went to my bedroom, quickly stripping off and getting in my shower. Washed and dried, I took my little plug from my bedside drawer and spent a glorious five minutes getting it in place before I slipped on my nightdress and got into bed. This was not a time to rush things.

I stroked my nipples through the silk and imagined Becca’s fingers, lips, teeth. My arse pressed against the bed and I felt the plug deep inside me. I stroked a thigh as I played with my nipples, the silk making it feel amazingly sensual and slowly I bunched the nighty up so it whispered over my thighs. I rolled onto my front and lifted my arse, and I could almost feel Becca kneeling behind me. Somehow it all got a bit urgent then and I strummed my clit until I came, hard and wet and crying out Becca’s name.

One of the benefits of being wealthy is that you can buy discretion. There was strong security at my apartment block and twenty-four-hour concierge too. George, the afternoon/evening man is a sweety. I told him that I had a visitor coming and he grinned.

“You won't be wanting the newspapers taking pics I bet!”

He’d seen the picture of me and Becca. “No, I definitely won't! My agent went ballistic.”

“Well, I reckon everyone’s allowed a private life, Miss.” I’d tried to get him to call me Faye but that wasn’t his style. “And I also reckon anyone would have been pleased to be out with you.”

Bless him. I was back in my flat and tidied up a bit then had a shower and got ready for Becca’s arrival. I’d done a small meal, pasta and veg and a little spicy sauce and that was in the fridge already. I remembered she’s liked my ‘inviting’ dress so I chose one that I hoped sent a similar message, poured myself a glass of wine and sat, waiting and not really watching the news.

Aside from the dress which was a deep red silk shift that reached to about three inches above my knees and was slit up the side I wasn’t wearing anything else. The top of the dress was like a camisole and had see-thru silk in a V between my tits. It was about 7:15 when George phoned to say Becca was on her way up. I went to the door and was there to greet her when the lift doors opened. Her wheeled case was abandoned as we kissed on the landing. It was a beautiful moment.

“Come on in, I’m half a glass ahead of you and I want to get a good look at you.”

I dragged her case in and deposited it in the hallway and led her through to my kitchen. I poured her a glass of wine and took her in as she leant back against the kitchen cabinet. Dark blue canvas pumps. Long, long legs in cut off blue jeans. A white button-down under a pale blue high cut jacket. Her ash blonde hair seemed shorter than I remembered, tight cut like a cap; eyes darker blue than I had remembered too.

“You look gorgeous.”

“You look,” she paused as if trying to find the right words, “inviting.”

We both grinned.

Very deliberately, Becca placed her glass on the counter, took mine from me and placed it beside hers. Leaning back against the counter again she pulled me so my back was too her and she kissed my neck while her hands found my breasts and she seemed to be feeling them as if getting reacquainted with them. Her teeth nibbled my earlobe and neck while her right hand left my breast and slipped down and under my dress and she found my mound, covering it, gently caressing.

Then she turned me round, totally in charge, absorbed in, well, me as I was in her. I slipped my hands inside her jacket and placed them flat on her chest, kissing her chin. I leant back. I could see in her eyes that, like me, she remembered everything about our previous ties together, and knew, too, that she’d remember her words that first night as her finger touched my arsehole.

“I’m going to have you here too if you lick my ear.” I moved slowly, kissing her cheek and then, gently squeezing her breasts, I licked her ear. A soft purr escaped her lips and I knew she’d got the message.

“Do you want something to eat?”

She leant back away from her, her hand motionless on my cunt. “Not food, not yet.” Her finger pushed inside me and she smiled. “Wet! Were you getting yourself ready before I got here?”

“I didn’t need to.”

My bed was huge and, I’d made sure, fresh and clean. She undressed very slowly.

“Take the dress off.”

“You didn’t want me to in Berlin.”

“We’re not in Berlin. Take it off.”

Her jacket was off, her shoes were too. She unbuttoned her jeans and pushed them down revealing a pair of tiny black panties which she left on while she pulled off her t. Her bra was filmy, transparent and her dark nipples and ample if by no means huge breasts were clearly visible. As I pulled my dress off she grinned.

“No underwear? You are so forgetful!”

Her bra off, she lowered herself over me as I sat on the bed. Her knees pushed mine apart as her tongue pushed my lips apart. She sank slowly to her knees, kissing all the way down my body until her mouth was on me and her tongue fluttered over my lips before parting them as it had my mouth and she kissed, licked, stroked. My hands rested lightly on her head, feeling her silky hair between my fingers.

Moments later I was prone, her pussy hovering above my mouth and her head between my thighs. We worked each other to a quiet frenzy and I came first, my hips lifting, my back arching and a howl of pleasure stifled by the pressure of her cunt on my mouth. I managed not to stop loving her and her own orgasm followed a few minutes later.

“You taste of me,” she said as she kissed me after.

“We taste of each other.”

She smiled. “And don’t think I had forgotten you licked my ear.”

Published 
Written by monica3
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