The Hollywood Plot Twist

Ever since I was a little kid, I always wanted to be in movies. In the eighties, I use to watch guys like Al Pacino, Mickey Rourke and Michael Douglas and think that could be me up there. Not that I would pride myself on looking like those guys, but I'm talking about the women they got to fuck on screen. That's one of the best things about being in show business, or so they said. You go to fancy dinners, you whine and dine A-list Hollywood actresses and then you kiss on her tits while a bunch of horny old men videotape you. After that, you take her back to a five star hotel, paid for by the studio, and fuck until 10:00 AM in the morning. You know what? They could yell "cut!" as much as you want, it never takes the romance out of it for me.

I should be thankful that I am a B movie star and the truth is, even if I told you my name you would probably say you never heard of me. At least I got looks for another few years. It doesn't take much to get any barhopping slut into bed when you have jet black hair, a baby face and a six pack that comes from doing 200 sit ups a day. But I outgrew ordinary women in the late 1980s. I don't want to sound like a dick, but I really go for the fantasy glamor girl. I like perfect, cosmetically enhanced breasts, makeup that covers a morning face and skin that glows like the sun in Tuscany. So when I got a job opposite one of the biggest stars in Hollywood I became ecstatic. This was the pinnacle of my career, B-movie king or not. Sure, Ms. Divorced Hollywood Star wasn't exactly the It-Girl of the new millennium. Her fame had peaked in the Me-Decade and with today's HD format she probably looked slightly aged and weathered. (A messy divorce from old what's-his-name probably didn't help)

God love her though, Ms. Hollywood still looked the part. I own every erotic thriller she made in the last 20 years and collect all of her nude scenes religiously. She was a real lady—you never saw any moles or unsightly whiskers on that sublime, glistening body. Her breasts were like perfectly sculpted orbs and her hair was radiantly blonde, probably the same as the day she first walked into the audition. This woman never allowed herself to become "milfy." She was a superstar and would be until her last dying, cumming breath.

Thinking about our upcoming love scene left with me with a fucking priapism for weeks on end. I spent most of my free time reading and rereading the script, analyzing every sentence of nudity that was to come. Soon, those luscious breasts would be shaking over my head. Soon, that horny teenager from 1980-something would finally shoot a wad in his celebrity crush. Maybe the script wouldn't call for honest-to-goodness sex on screen. Maybe the hack director would tell me to put a sock on my cock or force me to wear a bodysuit. Whatever, if that woman's gorgeous tits were in my face, I wasn't complaining. Besides, how difficult could it be to talk some fading, insecure Hollywood starlet into having a few drinks after a hard day at the office?

But wouldn't you know, Hollywood glamorizes everything...even my dreams of scoring with the ultimate blonde bombshell of my era were rewritten and made into a predictable happy ending Ms. Hollywood could be comfortable with.

Mister Hack Director told me the morning of the Big Scene to get ready. I remember my cock getting so hard just thinking about the honor of sharing a bed with Mrs. 80s Immortal. My breath was short and an anxious feeling rose to the top of my stomach and up into my throat. I knew I wouldn't be able to breathe properly until I came about three times and smothered my face in her breasts for a good night's sleep.

We filmed a couple of in-between scenes while waiting for the starlet to arrive. After filming, the director instructed me to go back to my trailer and rest a while. Rest? I obliged, because I'm used to following strange orders working in this town. About ten minutes a later I get a knock on a door. Some cute little redhead was standing in front of me, smiling wide and tilting her head in earnest. Maybe it's second nature for me by now, but I start turning the old charm on. "What's a pretty girl like you doing in an ugly town like this?"

She chuckled. "I'm a big fan of yours," she sheepishly said curling her ponytail.

"Yeah?" Damned if I knew that a whole new generation of girls fell in love with my B-movie dimples. This kid couldn't have been a year over 19 years old. She had freckles on her face and those types of moles around her neck that usually turned me off of the typical bar slut back home. Her inviting breasts were protruding probably only because of a pricey pick up bra resting underneath that top-unbuttoned red blouse. She wasn't a knock out by any means, but I found a sweet quality in her face, probably the same way that Ms. Hollywood would have felt about a silly teenage boy idolizing her two decades ago.

"Can I come in?" she said, daring me with her eyes, asking politely for the fucking of her exuberant life so far.

I should have told the girl to get lost, to find some other has-been hero to cock-worship, especially since I had a sex scene to film. But how could I? Not only is fan adoration the ultimate aphrodisiac, but my cock was still hard from thinking about the imminent Ms. Hollywood manhandling. I barely whispered "Yeah..." before welcoming the redhead in my trailer and closing the door behind us. I couldn't even insincerely offer a bottle of Chteau La Mondotte Saint-Emilion before the quirky newcomer dropped to my legs and began unzipping my pants. She looked into my eyes every inch of the way there, furiously looking for a hard cock inside those dockers. She pulled it out gently and began modestly sucking the head. I felt the blood flow into my hardening cock, like a dam fixing to break because of the power of the current. She licked the head with her tongue, teasingly drawing a picture across my head and swirling the prick like melting ice cream. Whoever she was, she knew what she was doing.

I was so turned on I fell back against the wall and she thrust right back into me, taking my whole member into her mouth. I grabbed the back of her head and clutched a handful of red hair as I forced my cock into the ends of her throat. To my surprise, she took all nine inches of me in her mouth without gagging once. She withdrew and left peppermint goo all over my shaft, still looking me in the eyes as she sucked me dry. She gobbled up my pre-cum like sweet candy and gave me a glowing smile. We went over to the bed and I took my pants and boxers down. She continued to worship my cock, lightly basting it up, then teasing it with hard, twisting full-swallows. She never made any small talk but her girlish grunts turned me on just the same. I looked closely into her face, a very young face, and one covered with some endearing zits. She was not at all the Hollywood mistress that I fantasized about, the one with perfect skin and an almost airbrushed tone to her body. This was a real woman pleasuring a man larger than life—indeed a rock-hard movie star. I had to ask, "You ever see any of my movies?"

She shook her head enthusiastically, her eyes distracted, and her tongue dripping all over my balls.

"Which ones?"

She shrugged timidly, stifling a laugh and giving me a sympathetic smile. She wasn't here to talk movies, even if she could name one. Sensing that I was struggling to maintain my hardness, she began intensifying her wet strokes. With one hand, she grabbed my cock, still milking it, while she swallowed the head with her hungry lips. With the other hand, she stroked my perineum, just a few fingers away from my asshole. Sometimes she would catch my eyes, just to put one of my balls in her mouth and suck it vigorously. She made me watch, taunting all my Hollywood glory with her real-world experience. She sensed I was about to cum and stuck two fingers up my asshole. "Wh-What the hell-?" Before I could say another word, she began intensifying her assault, violently riding my cock with her mouth. A few more moments of wet slapping and I was bound to cum all over her perky teenage face.

I grabbed her ponytail for dear life and sounded a scream louder than any director ever got out of me filming a horror flick. She never withdrew her finger from me and watched as all the cum went flying all over her zitty face. I looked at her as she basked in goofy joy, so flattered at the idea of blowing a B-list celebrity. It was like being sucked off by a cartoon, only more like Babs Bunny than Jessica Rabbit. I should have kicked her out at that moment but I suddenly had a thirst for ripe young pussy. I grabbed her by that teen-queen ponytail, stared into her affable eyes and demanded that she strip. She enjoyed my power trip and willingly followed orders. She stood up and ripped the buttons off her blouse, giving me a good look at that black push up bra from Macys. Her tits were small but I still wanted to see them, squeeze them, lick them and bite them like candy corns.

She unfastened her red blouse and gave me a wide-angle shot of her black panties. She let me pull her panties down and see her freckled pelvic bone, with just a scatter of naturally red public hair waiting for me. I licked her pelvis, still inches away from her pussy, pondering on all the possibilities. She lifted one leg up and rested it on my bed, opening up her pussy wide for the most delicious angle. I licked her clit into a soapy mess and dipped my tongue into her cunt juices. I don't know why I was so surprised to learn how sweet she tasted—her pussy was like devouring a cup of Tres leches.

I licked her until she became soaking wet and couldn't help but drip her cunt juice all over my lips. I'm not sure if I became hard again or if I never lost my erection to begin with. All I knew was that I wanted to fuck her little pussy into oblivion. I grabbed her little butt and slid my cock into that moist treasure box. I don't really know if I was hurting her or if she was screaming in fulfillment. All I know if that I shoved my cock so deep into and so swiftly that I almost bent the little fella backwards. I remember her pussy gyrating above me as I pounded her, her pubic hair quaking back and forth. I hardly looked at her cute little face; I only remember the moles on her tummy, the birthmarks above her tiny bush, and freckles all over her wiggling legs.

I should have let the nameless girl go after all this abuse, but I figured if I'm never going to see her again, I might as well do everything my mind could conjure up. She looked worn out but ready for more. I turned her over on her belly and demanded that she put her ass in the air. She obliged, panting in heat, smelling of sweat, cum and used pussy. I found her hole and shoved my huge member into that tiny cubbyhole. The wordless girl couldn't help but give out a shriek as I penetrated her ass, halfway between orgasm and intense pain. I thrust my cock into her ass, eyeing those damned freckles above her languishing butt cheeks. A carnivorous spirit came over me—I wanted to damage her. I wanted to claim my territory and ruin this beautiful young body for every future paramour. I wanted to rip her asshole and make her beg me to stop. I couldn't even help but look at my naked, ripped body in the mirror, as I was fucking some young nobody whose only dream in life was to eat my cum.

The sensation made me rock hard and I realized it was time to cum again. I could feel my knees spasming and my perineum aching in dread. This one was going to be a gusher and the only way it would mean something, is if I came inside this girl's pussy. Thoughts of spawning a bastard or causing some young cunt an unwanted pregnancy seemed to further arouse me. All I knew was that I was from Hollywood and whatever consequences resulted were her problems to deal with. The thought of fucking this girl's life up was too much for my cock to bear. I came harder than I ever did, at least since the 80s, when I first masturbated to Old Hollywood What's Her Name. I watched as my aching cock shrunk down from a wooly mammoth to a recoiled turtle, all inside this girl's innocent, obscenely freckled pussy.

It took me several long moments to recover. My pubic bone was throbbing with pain and cum was all over my legs, blankets and floor. The girl slipped her panties back on and sent me a timid but pleased smile. I couldn't think of another word to say before she exited the trailer, no doubt to collect her check from that bastard of a director.

Shit.

That meant I had to film the Big Scene in just a few minutes and I had no feeling left in my dick. Even if I wanted to, even if I could summon up that horny inner child and remind him who he is going to have simulated sex with in the next hour, I was spent. I couldn't do anything with Hollywood Blonde even if I tried.

As depressing as my mindset was at that moment the experience was even worse. When Ms. Hollywood showed up on set she was a real bitch and never once spoke directly to me. All I could do was act at that point. Worse yet, I was distracted by the starlet's varicose veins and ugly skin tags, and couldn't even remember my lines.

Everything they say about Hollywood sex scenes is true. It's the perks of show business that make it all worthwhile.