Desperation Day

Natalie watched Jaime's hand glide into the clutch purse she had laying open on her dressing table and deftly slide back with a hundred-dollar bill palmed. He did this well because he did this a lot. She might have said something, but, standing behind the boudoir chair she was sitting in and hunched over her, he had one hand covering her left breast underneath her bra and had his lips buried in the hollow of her neck. He was a hunk and a half, and when he was working up to fucking her, she couldn't bring herself to break the mood and fight.

She had left the bill in there for him to find anyway. Today had been payday Friday at the Pacific Village Buick dealership where she worked as a receptionist by day, and Jaime knew it was. This probably was why he'd come nosing around her, she thought. That's why she'd hidden most of the cash elsewhere in the studio apartment as soon as she'd gotten home—hoping that finding this one bill would keep him from searching for the rest. He was much like any actor on the make in Los Angeles—gorgeous in face and body, well hung, cocky, always working the angles, and perpetually broke.

But he also was doing better than she was at chipping away at Hollywood, so she somewhat resented how ready he was to pilfer from her. Only somewhat, taking into the account that he was well hung. She was doing some night-time stock theater, which is where she'd met Jaime in the first place, and she had her Equity Card now, thanks to the series of commercials the manger of the Buick dealership had wangled her into. But she hadn't broken into any TV or movie extra work yet like Jaime had. He was able to work as an actor full time now—or mostly. She also knew that he was in with some shady mob characters. But she didn't want to know what he did with them, so she didn't ask.

She was just happy that she could claim to have such a hunk she could say was her boyfriend—to have photos she could send back to her girlfriends. It felt so sophisticated and avant-garde after growing up in hickville Wabash, Indiana, to have a movie actor bedding her. It would be nice if she didn't have to be his mother too, though.

She had been sitting in her bra and panties at her dressing table when he came in, using the key she'd let him have in a moment of weakness, and had come right up behind her, leaned down to her for a kiss, and palmed her breasts over the bra cups.

After swiping the hundred-dollar bill that disappeared into his trousers pocket as surreptitiously as the condom packet appeared out of it later, she felt her bra being unsnapped from in back and he pulled it away, tossed it aside, and covered her breasts with his hands, lifting them and getting the nipples trapped between two fingers and squeezing.

Natalie moaned and turned her face up to him for his mouth to descend into a kiss. This made it all worthwhile, even though his dipping into her purse put her on the edge—and this month probably below the edge of financial desperation. He worked her so well. The manager of the Buick dealership made fast and clumsy work of it in the storage room at work. Jaime, a real stud, took her slowly and with some imagination.

"God, I love these tits," Jaime murmured. "Just the right handful. Not pancakes or floppy. Perky, just like you."

She herself had put them on the list for augmentation the first windfall she got, but it made her purr to hear him praise them, if only as a preliminary to get into her panties. She reached her hands up to cover his on her breasts and almost immediately he pulled his out from underneath, grabbed the hem of his polo shirt on either side, and pulled his shirt off.

Natalie gulped air as she always did when she saw the reflection of the magnificent musculature of his finely honed chest in the dressing table mirror. All signals were go for sex this afternoon. Some days he was so full of himself on the success of his day that he didn't get past the tease. When he started taking clothes off, though, he was intent on business.

"Say, I got a call back on the beach movie extra gig today. What do you think? Think I should get the part of a surfer bum?" He flexed for her.

So, maybe it was a full of himself day after all, she thought. He wanted her to admire his cut torso. This she would have no trouble doing.

"Of course. You're a shoo-in for the part," Natalie said. And she was able to believe it when she said it. "Unless, of course, they put you too close to the principles. Then you'll show them up and they'll have to let you go." She firmly believed that too.

He laughed, covered her hands on her breasts, and leaned in for another kiss. His lips moving to the hollow of her neck again, he murmured, "You got me hot, lady. I wanna fuck you."

She gave him a moan of assent and started to tremble as his hands left her breasts and glided down her torso to her thighs. He slid them to her inner thighs and applied a bit of pressure, nudging her to spread her legs. His fingers moved into the leg holes of her panties on either side, moving to and tweaking and rubbing her labia with fingers from either direction, first the outer folds and then, more intimately, the inner ones.

Natalie shuddered, and murmured, "Yes, Jaime, yes." She started panting and moaning as his fingers spread her labia and began more extensive, deeper exploration. She turned her face to him and hungrily responded to his possessive kiss.

Jaime disengaged; moved quickly around the chair; pushing it, and her, out from the dressing table; and knelt between her legs. His eyes captured hers as he moved her legs together, slowly pulled her panties down and off her legs; spread her legs again; and lowered his head to between her thighs.

Crying out, "Oh, God, Jaime, oh, God," Natalie gripped his neatly coiffured, bottle-blond, wavy head of hair as he attacked her cunt with his mouth, tongue, and teeth.

Ten minutes later, his trousers were off, a condom was on, and he was straddling the seat of the boudoir chair, facing Natalie. Her thighs were resting on his, the soles of her feet were pressing on the front edge of the dressing table, and his buttocks were in rhythmic forward and back swings, as he fucked her. His lips were paying alternate attention to her nipples. She had her arms wrapped around his neck and was murmuring, "Yes, Jaime, yes, Jaime, oh shit yes."

Afterward, Natalie realized that Jaime had something to discuss, because he was nervously walking around the studio apartment while she was sitting at her dressing table to fix the glorious damage he had done to her. They were going out to celebrate Jaime having gotten the callback to the beach movie extras auditions. They were going to the movies—a beach movie—because Jaime wanted to get more pointers in how the extras both stayed in the background and arrested the attention of potential producers and directors. She assumed she would be paying for the theater tickets. He did have a nifty BMW convertible, though—ten years old but still nifty—which was so much better to go on a date in than her dull Corolla sedan.

He always did wander around the room as she was getting ready to go out, but this time there was a difference. Always before, he was looking for where she might have money stashed. He knew today had been a payday and yet his eyes stayed on her as he moved. Or so Natalie thought at the time.

"What?" she finally said.

"What what?" he asked.

"You're fidgeting. Do you have something you want to tell me?"

"There's nothing . . . well, there is something. Keith and I are getting up a party to go to Las Vegas the second weekend of August. Just to bum around and cop some free casino food. He's got a friend who has an apartment there he won't be using that weekend."

Natalie knew all about Keith's "friend." An older, once pretty well known, actor. Keith fucked women, but he also seemed prepared to be this old actor's intimate friend for the side benefits. Briefly Natalie wondered if Jaime did the same. But she really didn't want to know, so she didn't wonder much. Natalie wasn't a boat rocker.

"I'd love to, but I can't afford it."

"Just a thought," Jaime said, but he continued to nervously wander about. Nervous wandering or not, he was turning her on. Such a beautiful body. He had showered and come out with a towel around him, but that had long since dropped. Why did she get the impression, though, that he hadn't exhausted what he wanted to talk about—or that he was prancing around in the nude like this to keep her purring?

"If you needed money to go, I think I know of a way you could get quick money," he said at last, probably, but not successfully, trying to make the remark sound off hand.

"I think bank robbing is out in California this year. I think as many of them have empty pocketbooks as I do."

"It's not robbing a bank. It's unusual. I was asked if I knew anyone who might be interested. And I thought of you, naturally."

"You thought of me naturally why?"

"Well, you always seem to be needing money. And you've got this great bod. And that red hair. You're an instant knockout. Good for gigs like this."

"So, who would have to screw?" She'd said it in jest, but the expression on Jaime's face told her she'd hit near the mark. Not all the way to the mark, though, she was to find out.

"Well, yes. But it's no secret to us that you've given out to some men to get what you want."

"Like to you, for instance?"

"It's more than that between us, of course."

Of course, she thought. Then she realized it must be a bit more than that, at least on her side, for her to be putting up with what she was. "OK, so it's giving sex. But it's more than just sex, is it?"

"For the money, yes. It's Tuesday, the 14th. You know what day that is, of course."

"Of course," she said. Then she shook her head and added, "No, what happens on Tuesday, the 14th?"

"It's National Nude Day. Might not be a big day in Indiana but it normally is here in California. Californians will take any excuse to strip and show their bods." Then he tumbled on, wanting now to get it all out. "As you know, I've met some producers and directors—and some others . . ."

"Some mobsters?" Natalie added sweetly.

"Well, some pretty rich—and kinky men. There's an all nighter poker party going on at an important man's house up in the Hills, and he wants something special for his guests that night."

"He wants young women strutting around in the nude to serve the drinks and snacks?"

"Well, yes, that's it. And he wants the women to be nice—very nice—to the guests, on request."

"So, he's asked you to pimp for him?"

Jaime turned beet red—all over—which Natalie actually thought was pretty sexy. She'd try to remember that as foreplay possibilities when the conversation was less serious.

"It's really good money. He gave me the privilege of making good money available to a few young women, yes. It's a lot more than you got for those Buick ads, and you had to fuck the fat dealership manager to get that gig."

It stung, but it was no less than the truth. Natalie's voice went hard. "Just how good is the money?"

"$3,000."

"For the night?"

"For each lay. You only have to do it once if you don't want to go for the big money. But you have to do it with whoever he gives you to."

Silence fell on the room.

"Natalie? Are you interested? Are you interested in doing a Nude Day gig?—think of it as modeling. All those models get laid during their photo shoots too, you know. Natalie?"

* * * *

"You won't be completely nude. I have a chain for you to wear around your waist and you'll be in heels."

Gee thanks, that will make all the difference, Natalie thought. She was truly desperate now. She'd agreed to it before, but Jaime had found her stash the other night, and now she needed rent money in addition to money to travel to Las Vegas. She didn't say anything back to him—Brian Rush, the host of the Beverly Hills Nude Day poker night bash, though. She was in awe of him. He not only was a gorgeous and hunky late thirties dreamboat, but he also was a movie producer. He'd introduced himself only as Brian, but she recognized him from Hollywood press reports. She did everything she could to memorize the faces and positions of the Hollywood producers and directors. And Brian Rush was one of the hunkiest of the lot.

When she was down to the skin, he'd also put his hands on her hips and moved her this and that way, like he was at an auction. He'd admired her deep auburn hair, brushed his hands under her breasts and lifted them, and, after noting that her folds were nicely puffy, suggested that she apply a little rouge to them. If she could have blushed down there, she wouldn't be needing the rouge.

"You look a little nervous," he said, the intimate inspection over. "You OK with this? You undoubtedly will get pawed and probed, but that's allowed. No gang banging in the living room, though. He wants to lay you, you have a private room to go to. And if it's two, each pays full price."

He made it sound like girls did this for parties in Hollywood all of the time. And as far as Natalie knew, they did. She wasn't about to reveal that it was all new—and a bit shocking—to her.

She merely nodded in acquiescence, and he continued. "Remember, $3,500 with any man you go with, but you only have to go with one all night, if you want. You still have to serve drinks and snacks and smokes, though. Betty here will help you get squared away and show you where the supplies, trays, and glasses are. My guests should be here within a half hour. We'll have three tables going in the living room and dining room."

Natalie had only half heard all but the $3,500 figure. "$3,500? That's not the amount I was told."

"That's the going rate. I make that clear when I put out feelers for girls. I don't really—"

"No, that's $500 more than I was quoted. I'm not complaining, mind you. Just surprised."

"Oh, Jaime's getting the $500. Finder's fee. But your part will go directly to you. I wouldn't trust giving it all to Jamie."

For the first time Natalie was able to believe that Jamie really

did

know Brian Rush—and vice versa. She should have known that there was a big chunk in it for Jamie. She was sure he wouldn't show up here tonight. He'd be out hustling someone else out of money. She didn't know why she went with him, other that he had a good dick and knew how to use it. Other than that he

was

a big dick. Someday she'd get her own back on him—she'd upstage him somehow and then drop him.

But today was Desperation Day, and now it was a matter of getting undressed. Betty was already yammering at her and Brian Rush, who had been talking to her as they mounted the curved staircase to the second floor of the mansion, was already gone at the sound of a doorbell down in the vast marble foyer.

* * * *

Natalie nearly spilled her tray of scotch rocks drinks she was passing around the tables in the living room. It wasn't because the clouds of smoke were beginning to obliterate the passages between the tables, dangerous going given the number of grasping hands to be navigated. It wasn't even because a thug had pinched her bare butt as she moved past the table. It was because this was a table of obvious thugs, and because of what she overheard them talking about as she approached—which they stopped talking about and returned to their poker hands when they realized she was there.

Bald, hulking, and beer bellied Thug Number One, whose voice was louder than the others at the table, had said something about how to get rid of the body—or so Natalie thought she heard him say as she approached and that quickly was confirmed.

"The old wrapped in a blanket and driven out to the pier and given a burial at sea seems the cleanest," small ferret-like Thug Number Two said.

"Needs to be something different this time," Thug Number Three, the most intelligent-looking of the three, a tall, older guy, who took better care of his appearance than the other three at the table said. He was about to say something else, but he saw that Natalie was standing there and he clammed up.

She offered her drinks and retreated as fast as possible, trembling. She had assumed that this was a film industry gathering, but all of these guys—except for Brian Rush and a couple of directors she recognized and maybe this Thug Number Three if she could see him away from the others—all came across as mobsters. Even Thug Number Three presented as a mobster lawyer.

She knew she shouldn't be surprised. She knew Jamie was tied up with mobsters as well as Hollywood types. He'd said they went hand in glove, that they depended on and fed off each other. He said Hollywood was owned by the mob, which did whatever it wanted here and got away with murder. So there was no surprise if Brian Rush was owned by the mob too. Such a waste of good man flesh, though, Natalie thought. If she could pick a man out of this bunch to earn her $3,000 with, it would be Brian Rush.

"A party girl. Nobody misses a party girl," she heard in a snatch of conversation as she passed near the table again. She was both repelled and drawn to the table, both not wanting to hear any part of what they were saying and being fascinated by it.

"Fuck her and shiv her. Then the trunk of a car," she heard the next time.

"Those guys at that table on the other side of the room need refills," Betty said, pointedly, to Natalie. It was a half hour later and any fascination Natalie had had with the conversation across the room had sunk into fear and horror. She knew their glasses were empty, but she'd been hoping that one of the other nude hostesses would go over there. Of course two of the other three had already gone upstairs with one of the male guests each.

". . . advise loading her up with drugs to muddy the waters. Then . . ." The slick lawyer, Thug Number Three, had been saying this in a low voice as Natalie approached the table, but he stopped abruptly upon seeing her.

"'Bout time, Jilly," Thug Number Four, a close representation of a gorilla, sang out as Natalie arrived. "I'll take one of them scotches. My throat's as dry as a witch's cunt, and I want to be able to whistle when I take this jackpot."

"Not a chance, with what I got in my hand," rang out Thug Number Two. "One over here too. A scotch over here, quickie, quickie."

"And me two, Red," growled Thug Number One, "And come over here to give me luck and help me rake in these old geezers' money."

"Red" wasn't the first mention of the reddish-auburn of her hair color Natalie had heard that night—the men seemed to be impressed with that, and especially that either it was her natural color or she'd taken extra special attention grooming her downstairs.

Using all of her acting ability, she acted like there was nothing she more wanted to do than stand by Thug Number one, with his hand at least initially cupping one of her butt cheeks, but, as the bidding mounted, moving to between her thighs, with a middle finger snaking up inside her folds and searching for—and finding—her clit.

"Anything here beat a Full House kings over tens?" Thug Number One growled. "No, I didn't think so. Think that wins me a prize. Brian. Hey, Brian, over here. I'm getting' randy here, Brian."

Brian Rush left his table in the dining room and sauntered over.

"Looks well over $4,000 on the table in my winnings to me," Thug Number One said. "You agree?"

"At least, yes. Ready for a $4,000 time out?"

"Absolutely."

$4,000, Natalie wondered. So Rush got his cut too. Charming.

"One of these, or do you want to wait until—"

"Red here will do just fine. Which room?"

"She's got the third door on the left upstairs," Rush said. Then he turned to Natalie. "Go upstairs with this man."

Natalie was already trembling in fear, but she was trying her best not to show it. She got all the way to the door to the foyer, unsteady on her feet, but wrapped possessively in the embrace of Thug Number One, who was whispering in her ear something about fucking her six ways from Sunday, when the slick lawyer type, Thug Number Three, called out, "Remember what we told you."