The Changeling The Switch Pt 7 THE THREE GRACES
In a rare interlude between bursts of activity as personal secretary to Adrienne, the star of The Puzzle's webcast, I found myself in the late afternoon, naked. on the apron of the sub-basement pool reclining on my belly facing Adrienne. A smile came to my face as I thought of the words of the real Maggie Dowd whose identity I had borrowed to conduct this investigation, a good undercover agent, like a chameleon, can change her stripes with the background. If a chameleon merges into the background, what can bare flesh of the undraped body conceal?
Naked lying prone opposite me rested my boss Adrienne. Adrienne's magnificent body would stand out against any backdrop. Yet her splendid physique could not conceal her intellect nor hide the meticulous and disciplined aspect of her nature. Once committed, Adrienne would scratch and claw likes a cat until she got her way. Little could distract her from her goal. Her struggle with the Puzzle Palace's CEO Mr Erickson over permission to allow me teach her boxing pitted her tenacity against his resolve.
Lifting her head with her elbows, Adrienne pushed her butt in the air and dangled let her breasts enticingly before me. Her nipples clung to the towel underneath her. Goosebumps speckled the bare skin of her arched back and butt. A dreamy look crossed her face as she twiddled her bare feet in the air. "A woman in porn epitomizes the plight of all women today. All things to all men: by fucking like a whore, dressing like a movie star and yet earning a paycheck to manage a household."
I laughed, snickering, "Sounds like my biography."
Of course, as the investigative reporter Margie Keating who had penetrated the Puzzle Palace under the cover of the real Maggie Dowd's name, I had two parallel lives to manage at once, including a kind of relationship with Jim, the absent Maggie Dowd's husband. My quick rise to the position of personal secretary to Adrienne had potential to improve both lives considerably.
The necessary public affection, ie fooling around with Maggie's husband Jim at TPP was a matter of business. In the course of dealing with Jim Dowd, preserving the illusion of my cover had morphed into true whoring around. Still, I reserved fucking for my true love, real husband James Keating during our clandestine meetings. Pondering the difference between loving to fuck and fucking for love would await a future day.
Adrienne asked, "Has Mr Erickson sent up to legal for a contract for your husband's Jim's paintings? Erickson is usually punctilious with legal matters."
Jim Dowd, the husband that I borrowed from the real Maggie Dowd when I adopted her identity, had attracted the attention of studio execs by placing me in the title role in an adaptation of the classical piece Birth of Venus. Reviewing Jim's work, in a corner of the gym, Mr Erickson's eyes widened when he opened the case and gazed upon the pencil sketch and the accompanying water color. There on the watercolor, I was in the middle naked floating on an huge starfish while Adrienne was rushing from one side with the silver robe and the other with pursed lips to plant a kiss.
"Breathtaking, it's a work of art," Erickson had exclaimed as he gazed upon Jim's painting. "Most of what I see from the art department is hack work, simple sketches for scenery. True this," Mr Erickson shook the watercolor, "piece imitates old masters, but it puts a twist on the concept. Erotic, seductive, it might appeal to our target audience's highbrow affectations."
Poolside, facing me, dangling her tits seductively in front of my eyes, Adrienne remarked, "Jim's paintings do curry with our audience's presumptuous pretense that they're promoting the beaux arts, not a `T&A' show." Do you think Jim's good luck will cause bad blood with his new colleagues in the art department?"
"So long as TPP is willing to let Jim to wander the gym to develop classically themed sketches, Jim is content to remain in the grungy work of the nightshift in housekeeping," I replied.
Jim's choice to remain in grunge work in housekeeping saved him from the jealous slights and brutal snobbery of fellow artists in the art department. My elevation to Adrienne's personal aide brought me jealous stares and chilly rebuffs in the locker whenever Adrienne wasn't around. Just this morning, as I took a deep breath to slide Maggie's extra tight hipsters off, an aspiring starlet hissed at me like a cat, "Starlets stay in shape. Lest the camera lens break, as it come to catch a naked starlets fat ass. Women's boxing champ indeed! A cream puff is all I see!"
I growled, "Them's fighting words, Dollie! I'd reword all that before you're sorry."
And a cat fight might have ensued except that petite freckled Rachel, sitting naked on the bench across from me, waiting hesitantly to venture out into the gym, unexpectedly playing the peacemaker interjected, "we're supposed to work together. You should have learned that starting out in The Puzzle Palace's at night work on the laundry detail."
At that Adrienne stepped into the locker room, Rachel gushed about the fight that nearly broke out. To Rachel, Adrienne asked," you're ready for your appearance today?"
Rachel sighed. "Yesterday, Billy's cock block came off so they could shave his hairy balls. clean. The makeup people left us on the honor system for the night to see if we could practise enough restraint, but today Billy's pee shooter goes back in the holster..."
As Rachel continued to babble on about her attempts to evade Billy all night, Adrienne turned to me to remind me of the commitment to help her shop for boxing protective equipment.
Later in the day as we lay poolside, Adrienne would comment with a sigh, "Today has hardly a typical day in a porn star's life."
"No running to meetings, electronic notebook in hand, to discuss upcoming topics, to shoot close -- ups, to review the final edited product, or to hear Mr Erickson's plea to cut off debate," I reflected, "`We shoot the best art we can, but in the end, our audience despite its effete and aesthetic veneer wants a T & A show.'"
As an undercover reporter in real life, I was playing a double role. As tempted as I was to doze off as Adrienne's butted up against the equally strong egos of writers and directors, I remained watchful for that hint of the great cabal of money, sex, and power that my editor believed to lie behind The Puzzle Palace.
"The daily life of a porn star," Adrienne mused, "lacks the glamour that the fantasies of an imaginative public might conceive. I'm sure my fans would regard TPP beginning its morning with a nude workout as erotic."
This morning had started out like any other. When Adrienne and I reported into the gym at 6AM, the round butts, a gaggle of bare butted, buxomly supplicants, all anxious for time on camera, gathered around tall lean Mr Erickson. For Mr Erickson the nude early morning workout was business not erotica. Face expressionless, Mr Erickson set the tone for his expectation of self -- discipline in male personnel. As he greeted arrivals and listened to requests for stage time, he maintained eye contact with both men and women. His body did not redden; his penis remained flaccid; and his nut sack hung away from his body.
Males, usually newcomers, who showed signs of arousal were introduced to the cock and ball jam, a TPP invention, a black plastic chastity device which hung over the cock and balls, contoured like a jock strap and cup and secured to a belt around the waist and garters around the thighs. The guys called it the iron jock strap.
This morning, I was a little embarrassed when Mr Erickson pushed his way through a cordon of actresses presenting their requests for time on camera to congratulate me personally on my quick and deserved rise in the TPP. "I looked at the proposal you've made on outercourse as a polite form of teas and denial. As it stands, it needs some tweaking to promote our products, but it is a promising beginning." Erickson nodded gravely. "We know it's an introduction to greater things to come. I'm sure you'll prove worthy of my confidence," Erickson smiled, turning to glance at the envy dripping from the faces of the round butted want -- to -- be starlets.
Erickson broke up his coterie. Groans accompanied the announcement of the beginning of calisthenics. "Maggie," Erickson called on me to the scowls of the round butts, "tell them TPP's workout is tougher than the daily drill in the Army."
"Tougher," I affirmed as I began the routine. I had to keep up with Adrienne and rival `round butts` even though I had spent some early morning hours sparring at the grungy store front gym that I had met the real Maggie in.
After calisthenics came yoga. Following the grueling exercises, we were allowed a few minutes to relax sloshing around in the pool or resting alongside it. Adrienne sighed, "Regrettably necessary," Adrienne declared stretching thrusting her magnificent chest out, "Darling little round butts have to keep the fat off if they expect to make the stage." Notwithstanding her proclaimed enthusiasm for the workout, Adrienne, tired of the workout ritual, was lobbying with Mr Erickson, the studio exec to introduce something more exotic: boxing, assuring him, "Maggie, my personal aide, can take me through the paces."
Most men preferred to study the goblets dangling on Adrienne's exposed pectorals and the curves gently reaching inward toward the cleavage in her sternum, but Erickson was firm as he cast a penetrating stare into Adrienne's deep sea blue eyes. "I will bring it up with the Board," Erickson promised. "Board members are reluctant, afraid more of injury to you," and looking at the other aspiring starlets performing exercises, "and the rest of the `round butts` than of changing the clothing free policy in the gym by allowing the guards and padding required." Forcing a smile, Erickson added, "What if our contestants started showing up on camera with busted noses and broken teeth? Starlets have to remain both in shape and presentable."
Everything at TPP had a prescribed attire. Someone out of place could be easily identified by security. Following Adrienne around as her personal aide, on the average day, I would wear the researcher`s garb modified to my specifications, dungaree jumper over a blouse, but instead when it came time for Adrienne to request the silver robes at the counter so that we could scoot up to the medical department and change, Adrienne turned to me and said, "Today, Dearest Maggie, is your lucky day." She cautioned me. "Many of the round butts, those little darling dearies, are going to be jealous."
"Oh?" I questioned. Adrienne took a breath. Her chest heaved. Was there a problem? I wondered.
