Author's Note: I know it's taken some time to get this chapter out, but I think you'll find it contains a lot. This is the longest Traffic Girl installment ever -- more than 34,000 words. There is a lot to unpack here, and I hope you enjoy reading it. I always welcome your feedback.
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We decamped from LA five days before the first Stages Tour concert in London. The European leg consisted of twenty-one shows in London, Paris, Madrid, Amsterdam, Milan, and Vienna. There would be three shows at each stop, and London would bookend it, getting three shows at Wembley Stadium to start and finish for a total of six nights. Because the locations were relatively close together, we would set up a full-time base about an hour from Wembley and on the southeast side of London. We would be set up in a literal castle in a posh, sleepy suburb. We needed the space, and we needed the privacy. We would be on two acres in Eltham in a thoroughly updated house and "cottage" that could fit twenty-two people.
The main house -- which previously had served as a supplemental retreat for the duke of so-and-so -- accommodated fourteen, which was more than enough space for the five of us, Riley and Henry, and Juliet and Melanie. All nine of us would take up residence for the duration of the tour. We had nothing better to do, and we thought it would be idyllic. We even took our two children and their two nannies, who could stay away from the debauched tour action in the cottage, which was spacious, slept eight, and was completely remote from the main house. We also had a security detail of three. That might have been overkill, but we were mindful to take precautions anytime we were outside the comfort of our little Hollywood Hills compound.
After we spent a couple days relaxing and getting over jetlag with sightseeing and exploring the grounds of our palatial estate, we tried to settle into a little bit of a routine. Jess worked on details with the jet and yacht, which were coming along nicely. I realized that I had been a bit impulsive with the purchases. They were major capital outlays that would require massive ongoing upkeep expenses. I didn't regret it, but I needed to do some work on making sure these didn't simply become vanity money pits. I didn't need them to be profitable on their own -- we were going to have too much fun with them -- but there was also no need to let them become a financial albatross.
There would be time to think about all that in greater detail. And I would. I'd also find a way to make it work to our advantage. But, at the moment, I was too distracted. A few minutes earlier, while I wrapped up a video call with Jason, I got a text from Juliet. She was supposed to be with my wives in the recording studio at the castle. In the 70s, the Rolling Stones had brought a mobile studio and recorded an album -- one of the more forgettable of the deep drug days -- there and just left it behind. It became a permanent fixture, and Riley was psyched to have someplace to test out new tracks. But Katie also had decided to take the leap, given the equipment's convenience, to record a couple demos of the songs she had written.
"Need to talk ASAP!" Juliet had written.
"Where?" I asked.
"Secret passage," she replied. "Two minutes."
The castle, in addition to the two acres, recording studio, movie theater, kitchen that could easily handle banquet preparation, and every amenity you could think of, including a full-size sauna, also had a secret passage. Apparently, it had been cordoned off in the nineteenth century to allow servants to move around parts of the first floor without being seen. Once we discovered it, the obvious thing to us was to use it to sneak off for quickies. In the few days we had been there, hooking up in the secret passage had become a favorite pastime.
The entry was located off the far side of the kitchen, behind what looked like an innocent wall panel next to the large walk-in pantry. But when you pressed the panel in the right spot, it led to a hidden hallway that traced all the way to the front of the house in an ambling circuit. Like the rest of the castle, the secret passage had been upgraded with modern lighting and kept clean. Maybe it was more of a secret hideaway. I thought about that as I pushed the hidden panel. It popped free from the wall, and I opened it toward me. Immediately, a delicate pair of hands pulled me inside.
"I just did a couple lines with your wives," Juliet said, her breath hot and sweet on my neck. "And it just hit me, just like that. I want a nice fuck."
"Well, you came to the right place," I said with a smile.
We were about to kiss, but I sensed a brief hesitation from Juliet, like there was something lingering between us. It passed quickly, and she immediately flashed her starlet's smile again. Her ice blue eyes had an improbable warmth to them. She ran her tongue behind her lower teeth as she looked at me, and her hands held the sides of my head. I felt her pause once more, but then she pushed forward. Our lips met, and our tongues danced. It was a familiar feeling to me now, but one that never failed to shoot a bolt of electricity through me.
I ran my hands down her rib cage, diving in a bit to cup her breasts briefly before letting them continue their tour of her body. She was slim but sturdy. Her hips flared just enough, and I took a firm grip on her pert butt, which was encased in a short pair of cutoffs. Juliet's purple babydoll t-shirt was thin and snug, letting her braless nipples poke forward. I broke the kiss and let my lips trail down her neck, which elicited a gasp. It was one of her favorite erogenous zones.
"Just get to it," Juliet said, her hands now fumbling with the waistband of my shorts.
During the casual, relaxing lead-up to the Stages Tour European leg, we all took to wearing athleisure clothing around the castle. It made quickies like this deliciously easy.
"If that's what the lady wants," I said with a chuckle.
"I want," she said, grasping my semi-hard cock in her fist.
I unbuttoned the fly on her shorts and remarked about how a zipper would be easier.
"Yeah, but I can't make it that easy for you," she said with an impish grin.
I pushed the denim down her legs, and she kissed me again as she stepped out of the shorts. She stroked my cock with one hand and pressed mine against her pubic mound with the other.
"I swear your girls are making me such a coke whore," she said.
"As if you needed to be enticed," I teased.
She winked and guided my cock between her thigh gap. She stood on her tiptoes so she could rub the head up and down her slit. It was soaking wet.
"What got you all worked up?" I asked.
She slipped the tip of my cock in, and I instinctively pushed her up against the stone wall to keep it in place. She gave a little gasp, then answered.
"Kat wanted the Ryan dildo," she said. "They're going to do lines off it then fuck."
"My sluts just can't get enough," I said.
"They're insatiable," she said. "And generous. Just like you."
I smiled and shoved my cock inside Juliet, pinning her against the wall with most of my weight.
"Fuck yeah," Juliet said. "That's it. Ram me good and hard. I'll cum just from that."
I smothered her mouth with another kiss and used my superior height and strength to follow her instructions. Most of the time, my trysts with Juliet were pretty romantic. We liked to take our time. We preferred multiple rounds. But there was something special in the intensity that came with the urgency and neediness of this fuck.
"You're so fucking hot," I panted.
"Am I the most famous pussy you've ever fucked?" Juliet asked.
Frequently over the last several months, I had thought I wasn't as mentally sharp as I used to be. Things were off after the accident. But I realized exactly what Juliet was doing here. She always had that little streak of insecurity underlying her celebrity. It was the nature of Hollywood, but particularly so for young and pretty actresses. She wasn't really asking me that question. She was just asking for a bit of an ego stroke. I jumped at the opportunity.
"The most famous," I said, looking in her eyes but not stopping my strong, driving strokes in and out of her cunt. "And the best famous pussy I've ever had. No question."
Juliet whimpered, and I could feel her body getting closer to orgasm.
"Tell me again," she said.
"You're so fucking famous," I said. "Even if you weren't so gorgeous, your fame would make my cock hard."
"Yes!" she moaned.
"Do you ever think of how many millions of men jerk off to you because you're so famous and hot?" I added.
"Oh, fuck, John ..." Juliet said. She was getting close now.
"All the times some guy begs off having sex with his wife because he's been stroking it to you, Juliet," I said.
Her knees almost buckled. She clung to me for dear life as her body shook, and she tried to barely muffle her cries of climax. Her pussy pulsed, milking my cock, and I had been on the brink anyway. My own dirty talk had gotten me off, thinking about the illustrious position I was in, inside the most famous actress on the planet.
"Oh, god! Oh! Fuck me! Fuck me!" Juliet cried out.
"I'm cumming!" I responded hoarsely.
"Fuck yeah! Fuck! God, I love when you nut in me," she said, panting now.
We crumpled into one another and kissed again, still with urgency. Juliet ran her hands down my cheeks, then slowed our kiss down into small little pecks on the lips.
"You," she said softly. "You always give it to me exactly how I need it."
