by Jaden Tanner
Maren nodded and audibly breathed in through her nostrils.
“Hold on — I’ll push your car aside and then the driveway is clear.”
Without waiting for Maren’s reply, he went to work. “So,” he said happily, once he’d taken care of that. “The entrance is cleared again.” He pointed to his car. “May I offer you a drink while you wait?”
Maren’s heart made a joyful leap. “Sure,” she said a little too quickly for her taste and locked the Chevrolet. Wilson opened his passenger door and she sank into the Ferraris’ deep leather seats. With that, she presented Wilson, more or less inadvertently, with a clear view between her legs.
When Greg Wilson saw that she wasn’t wearing any panties, his gaze lingered, though he didn’t say anything.
Coyly, Maren pulled down at her skirt’s hemline.
“You don’t need to hide it,” the actor grinned and walked around the other side of the car.
Once he’d taken a seat behind the wheel, he pushed a nondescript button underneath the dashboard and the gate slid sideways and opened as if he’d said ‘open sesame.’
Maren could barely believe her luck — she was really sitting in the car next to Greg Wilson!
The soft vibrations of the twelve-cylinder car caused a pleasant tingling inside her groin, and Maren couldn’t and didn’t want to prevent her skirt from riding up another inch or two again. Wilson promptly looked down at her toned thighs.
Apparently, he was fond of the ladies. Maren honestly couldn’t imagine that the star was gay. He had jumped at each signal she was presenting him with, subtle or not.
The car was now rolling over the white pebbles of the wide driveway, through a park like front yard, towards the villa.
“Do you like it?” Wilson asked, visibly proud, when he noticed her gaze.
“It’s … grandiose, Mr. Wilson.”
He laughed his hoarse laugh that she’d heard so many times before, when he’d played the cool guy on the silver screen. “So you know who I am,” he observed.
“Of course.” Maren had almost added: “Who doesn’t?”
“One always has to expect to bump into a celebrity around here, in Bel Air.”
Wilson widened his grin even further. As he rose from the car, her eyes dropped to his butt again and for a split second, she almost reached out to grab it.
As they walked up to the villa, side by side, he looked at her contemplatively. “May I ask what you’re doing in Bel Air?”
“I’m … here for business.” Maren replied evasively and hoped that he wouldn’t ask for details.
But the actor seemed satisfied with this answer for now. A butler opened the door and greeted them affably.
Wilson casually tossed him the Ferrari keys.
“We had a bit of an issue with the car,” Wilson started telling the Filipino butler. “Security is already taking care of the auto shop. Until her car is fixed, Miss …”
“Janson.” Maren quickly added. “Maren Janson.”
Wilson nodded. “Until then Miss Janson will be my guest.”
It sounds funny when someone with an American accent pronounces my name, Maren thought, amused.
After the butler had retreated again, they stepped into the living room. Maren estimated that it was the same size as her entire apartment in Hamburg. Floor to ceiling windows allowed an incredible view over the garden, which was atmospherically illuminated in the darkness. A door led onto the terrace.
“During the day you can even see the ocean from here,” Greg Wilson pointed out as he followed Maren’s gaze. “This is where I retreat when I want to escape all the mania of Hollywood — that’s also the reason for the unfriendly security team.” He approached the bar. “May I offer you something to drink?”
Maren, who only drank alcohol very seldomly, hesitated. Maybe a drink would actually do her good right now. She was terribly nervous.
“Perhaps a glass of wine,” she said.
“You’ve got taste, lady,” Wilson smiled and uncorked a bottle of Californian red. After pouring himself a whiskey, they toasted.
Maren couldn’t believe how easily she had gotten into the actor’s house. Now she had to complete her mission and seduce Greg Wilson.
In order to do that, she needed to jump over her own shadow, something she’d normally leave to her friend. But this time Maren was on her own. She had to take the initiative.
There are worse things in life than having to sleep with Greg Wilson — she encouraged herself. Assuming that the rumors about his sexuality aren’t true and he isn’t gay, she mentally added, her heart beating loudly.
Maren sank back into the large couch, her glass of wine in hand, while Greg stayed by the window and looked at her closely. He kept eyeing her legs greedily. As she’d sat down, the skirt had ridden up again and had granted him a promising view of her pussy.
Maren hesitated for a moment but then crossed her legs with demonstrably slow speed.
Greg sipped at his glass. “I assume you’re a fan of Basic Instinct?”
“You don’t seem to mind,” Maren replied and drank a little of her wine. She looked deep into his eyes and he held her gaze.
Maren felt that she was already getting wet.
Apparently, Greg Wilson was fired up, too, because he was now putting down his glass on the low couch table and went down to his knees in front of Maren, pushing her thighs apart.
She craved his touch, could suddenly hardly wait to be taken by this incredible man. Almost automatically, her hand stroked his thick, sweet smelling hair. She’d already forgotten that Wilson wasn’t just any guy, but a world-famous Hollywood star. She had also successfully blocked out that a security team was watching them and forgotten about the butler, too, once he touched her clitoris with his tongue.
Maren threw back her head and enjoyed the sensation of him sucking at her swollen pearl and his tongue then parting her wet crevice.
While he appreciatively licked her, he pushed his hand under her buttocks and lifted her pelvis a little. Maren pulled her thighs to her body and revealed herself to him. A moaned escaped her lips when he pulled back. She slid forward on the sofa and pulled his t-shirt off and then started working on opening his zipper. Greg wasn’t wearing any boxers so his hard cock bounced towards her. Greedily, she grabbed it, wrapping her fingers around his shaft a little tighter before letting her hand slide up again in rhythm.
He skillfully escaped from her caresses and pushed her onto the couch. He boldly grabbed her legs and placed them on his wide shoulders.
There was no going back now — Maren's thoughts zipped through her, because she could already feel him entering her. He slid into her gently and paused for a moment to look at her lasciviously.
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” he whispered and thrust his cock deep into her, making her moan. When she didn’t reply, he pulled back and let the tip of his cock dance over her clit, pushing her towards climax like this.
“You wanted me to fuck you, that’s why you let out the air of your own tires, right?” he purred and rammed himself into her cunt once more.
Maren whimpered and felt him fiddling with her blouse so he could massage her breasts. With one skillful move, he had pushed aside her bra’s fabric and was twisting her nipples that were already greedily pointed towards him.
Hard and hungrily, he thrust into her, pushing Maren to the brink of sanity. Suddenly, he paused, while his cock filled her up completely. He took her chin between thumb and index finger and looked deep into her blue eyes.
“Do you think I’m stupid or something?”
“What are you talking about?”
Another thrust into her cunt. “That I let you into my house that easily.”
“I …” Maren gasped, powerless.
“I liked you, you horny little fox, otherwise I wouldn’t have fallen for it.”
Once again he thrust his cock deep inside her and Maren screamed out.
“Please, keep fucking me!”
she begged.
Wilson didn’t need to be asked twice. He fucked Maren as if there was no tomorrow, and then suddenly stopped.
“Turn around” he demanded of her. “Kneel down, I want to give it to you from behind.”
She did what he wanted and presented him with her luscious backside. Wilson had risen to his feet and now stood behind her. With an iron grip, he grabbed her hips and entered her from behind. His movements became faster and faster and the waves of Maren’s nearing and unstoppable orgasm carried her sanity off along with it. Her vagina twitched and tightened around his hard shaft. He continued to thrust deep into her. When Maren climaxed, she screamed and bit into the cushions. Powerlessly, she collapsed on the couch and looked up at Wilson who was standing in front of her with a bouncing cock.
“Take it into your mouth, I want you to lick your cunt juice off.” He demanded. Maren couldn’t help but fulfill his request.
Once she’d enveloped his tip with her lips, she could taste her own desire.
Wilson firmly held on to her head and pushed his cock into her mouth. Maren struggled to suppress her gag reflex when the tip reached the back of her throat, but managed to control it.
Right before he came, Wilson pulled out of her and masturbated right in front of her eyes. It didn’t take long until he was ready. He grimaced as he squirted his cum onto her breasts.
***
Caprice could have imagined better ways to pass her time than to be called to attend a press conference shortly before midnight. After she’d taken a long shower and put on a new outfit, she settled into a stool at Bar 190 to indulge in one or two pre-conference drinks.
After what felt like a lifetime, Tom Petterson and Robert Hatch were finally ready to receive the members of the press. At least Caprice knew the reason for the delay and was bemused when she saw the looks on her colleagues’ faces that had obviously been doubtful whether the event, presenting the candidates for the leading male in Dreams of Passion, would even take place at all.
As Caprice stepped into the venue, she was disappointed: It seemed like this would be the same old boring press conference, the same as thousands of others taking place all over the world today. The only difference was that today, for the first time, the two young actors were to be let loose in front of the international press corps.
Seated in the middle of the long table, Caprice recognized Emmi Swanson, the blonde producer with Swedish ancestry. To her right sat a wiry man in his early fifties, who was wearing dark sunglasses, despite the low lighting in the room. According to his nametag it was Steve Price, the director for this movie project. To Emmi Swanson’s left was a very groomed man wearing a tailored suit in his mid-thirties called Marc Miller — a beautiful everyman, who Caprice would happily pull off his beaten track into her naughty lair.
Who knows — the night’s still young, Caprice thought, while starting to plan out how she could best start flirting with Petterson after the official part of the evening was over. Then she looked around for an empty seat.
Right in the front stood the photographers and the reporters had taken their seats behind them with their notepads and laptops.
Once everybody was seated, the producer welcomed all the guests and then introduced the director and Marc Miller, who was the head of the production company’s marketing division.
Bored, Caprice examined her fingernails, then she burst out, “Did we really all show up here in the middle of the night to listen to all this marketing twaddle? We want the actors to show!”
The producer looked at her, clearly thrown, then smiled a little nervously and nodded. “I will introduce tonight’s stars to you in a moment, Miss …”
“LaCroix, Caprice LaCroix, FLASH magazine,” Caprice replied. “So, honey, when is the interesting part of this cripplingly boring presentation finally going to start?”
Emmi Swanson passed the torch to Marc Miller, who explained both the movie project and the idea of the online voting for both candidates in more detail.
Finally, the actors were brought out and it didn’t escape Caprice that Tom Petterson and Robert Hatch sat down at the opposite end of the table, as far away from each other as possible.
“Is it true that Greg Wilson is no longer playing the role of ‘Christopher Love’ because he had problems with the sex scenes due to his homosexuality?” Caprice asked outright. All around her, pens were eagerly hovering over notepads. Obviously every single one of her colleagues was dying to ask this question, but no one had had the guts to do so.
“We don’t know anything about his sexual orientation, but Mr. Wilson had fee demands that we couldn’t, nor wanted, to meet.” Emmi Swanson responded smoothly, while fiddling with the cleavage of her low cut black dress.
“We also wanted to throw two fresh, unworn faces like Mr. Petteron and Mr. Hatch into the mix and make them compete.” Steve Prince added.
“Two faces that can’t stand each other?” Caprice asked, garnering surprised looks from her colleagues.
“Two who’ve never worked on a project together before,” the director quickly corrected her.
The longer the press conference went on, the more certain Caprice became that she and all the other members of the press were only to be used as an extension of the enormous marketing machine. But she wouldn’t let herself be used like that. She got up and left the meeting before it had ended.
She once more passed the hotel’s bar on the ground floor. She ignored the questioning look on the face of the man behind the counter. The soft piano music and low lighting lifted her spirit. Caprice climbed onto the bar stool and ordered a double whiskey from the barkeep. She had to admit that she’d imagined the evening progressing quite differently. But she would get all the information she needed — she was sure of it.
“You were really giving Mrs. Swanson some hell in there, Mrs. LaCroix,” she heard a gentle male voice say behind her. As Caprice turned, she looked into the striking face of Robert Hatch. He was older than his competitor and had always reminded Caprice of a more mature version of Justin Bieber. When Caprice didn’t respond, Hatch pointed at the bar stool next to her. “Is this seat taken?”
“No. Go ahead, sit down.” Caprice made an inviting gesture. The evening seemed to be taking a positive turn.
Caprice looked past Robert Hatch into the direction of the venue. “Has your rival already left again?”
“Tom?” Hatch laughed his gravelly laugh. “He’s an alright guy …” The actor ran his fingers through his hair and ordered a scotch.
“Hold on,” Caprice shouted — the alcohol had already had an effect on her. “They say that you guys are enemies.”
Hatch shook his head. “We’re competitors when it comes to the online voting that will decide who will get the leading part in the movie, nothing more.”
“The little birdies are singing quite a different tune,” Caprice muttered.
“Tom’s already headed back to his room, he doesn’t like being in the spotlight all that much.”
The barkeeper brought Hatch his drink. They drank together in companionable silence.
Caprice looked into Robert’s eyes and leaned forward so that she presented him with an ideal view of her cleavage. She had gone without a bra today. Underwear was overrated, Caprice felt, especially when she had a job to do.
Her erect nipples were now pushing through the fabric of her dress.
“Do you like what you see?”
He nodded. “It’s quite something.”
“Do you think it’ll get me an interview?”
“How much are you willing to pay?”
“How … about with this?” Caprice briefly spread her legs, presenting Hatch with a clear view of her naked crotch. The view of her thighs hemmed in strapless stockings almost made his eyes pop out of their sockets. In the low light of the bar, her freshly waxed pussy shimmered with promise.
Robert Hatch looked around. “Not here,” he muttered. “The production team’s people are everywhere and wat
ching us. To be honest, you made quite a show at the conference.”
Caprice waved him aside and crossed her legs once more.
“So what? I hate being told what to do, what to think, what to write. I don’t go along with shit like that.”
“You seem to be itching for a fight,” Hatch observed with a smile. “Is that how you approach life?”
“Wait and see,” Caprice grinned.
“We shouldn’t be seen here together,” Robert repeated and emptied the rest of his Scotch. “I’ll go ahead and you’ll follow me in twelve minutes.” He tossed a note on the counter and slipped off the bar stool, before turning to Caprice. “Twelve minutes, you hear? Room 313, also known as the ‘black parlor.’ Be ready for anything, though darling I’ll see you there.” With these words, he left Caprice behind by herself.
***
“So who are you really?” Greg asked. After her heart frequency had normalized, they’d stepped onto the terrace. The mild evening air was fragrant with citrus and a slight ocean breeze. Maren inhaled deeply and eyed Greg from the side. Greg nuzzled into her from behind and gently kissed her neck, sending shivers down her spine.
“Maren Janson from Hamburg, Germany, but I’ve already told you that.”
A breeze swept through the palm trees in the garden, sending a soft rustling through the night.
”I’m not stupid,” Greg laughed. “You’re hanging around outside my house with your presumably broken down car and don’t hesitate for even a second to accompany me inside.”
“I’m sure millions of women would act the same,” Maren replied, readying to strike back. “Why did you take me inside without really knowing who I was?”
Now he grinned. “Because you were hitting on me.” He kissed her passionately and Maren felt a familiar tingle in her groin. “I live alone as you may know. Yes, I could have sex with a lot of women.”
“And why don’t you?” Greg Wilson was definitely not gay, he’d proven that to Maren tonight.
“Because … I’m not allowed to do that. Those are the rules in Hollywood. You can’t just do whatever you want, otherwise you’re out of favor here much quicker than you’d think.”