Bad Boy Boss

by Abby Chance

  The place had two staircases so I guess it had ‘wings’ which would tend to support the ‘mansion’ rather than the ‘house’ designation. Peter took me upstairs to our rooms. I had a room and he had a room. A door connected them and they each had their own bathroom. Both had a beautiful view of the ocean and the day was clear enough to catch a glimpse of the Channel Islands, at least Santa Cruz which was the biggest and closest to Santa Barbara.

  “We mess up one bed, then sleep in the other, right?” I said. “You are not even vaguely contemplating leaving me alone tonight, are you?”

  In answer, he pushed me down on the bed. He got his hand under my bra and was kissing me. I was really too scared right then to get hot, and he seemed to know that when my nipples didn’t react to his touch as they normally did.

  “At night,” he said, “the sound of the ocean fills these rooms. It’s very romantic, and I can’t wait to have you in my arms to share that with. No one is going to leave you alone, here, or anywhere else I can think of. You’re done with alone; now we do together.”

  “What about LA?”

  “The audition?”

  “Yes.”

  “We’ll stay in the Glendale house. It’s not as big as this, but it’s close to Hollywood, Burbank and the studios. It’s up in the Verdugo Hills; if it weren’t for the smog, it’d have a great view.”

  “So you’re planning on staying with me.”

  “I’m planning on staying with you forever, but I can’t help much with the acting. I’m no good at it, you see. This was decided when I did two pilots for television and, in both cases, my scenes were reshot with another child actor because I was terrible. Cameras and I don’t like each other. And yes, they did cast me in a stage play in High School, right here in Santa Barbara. I embarrassed my sister so badly she publicly disowned me right in the center of the cafeteria, and that was for the dress rehearsal, an understudy did it for the public.”

  “In other words, you’re a terrible liar, even when it’s expected you can’t do it acceptably. That’s a good thing to know.”

  Jeremy caught us at the bottom of the stairs with a letter he had printed out from an email. It sort of introduced me to whoever at Warner Brothers needed to read it and said I was expected at a certain place and time and that Alex Baker would be with me.

  Next he introduced me to his sisters, both were rather exotic-looking women; well, WASP father, Jewish mother, and like their mother, they took care of themselves physically. Frankly, they were just the fifty-second time I felt both out-classed and embarrassed, and it was just the beginning of the afternoon. Just the dress on either one cost more than I’d earned my entire life.

  If I were disposed to drinking I’d have crawled into a bottle and stayed there. I was feeling so out of place and scared, I just clung to Peter’s arm. I smiled whenever I started to blush, which must have given everyone the impression that I was a very happy person, always smiling like that.

  Cash hung around with us most of the afternoon. From what I could gather, they were thrown together often while growing up. Cash’s dad, who was Harrison’s brother, owned three Ford dealerships on the California coast, plus the house/mansion next door. I guess it really helps careers along when your great-grandfather happens to dig up a pool of oil. By contrast, if my great-grandfather ever dug anything, it was probably a sewer, which might explain my feelings of total inadequacy all that afternoon and evening.

  Cash, it seemed, had just latched onto another company, this one out of Northridge doing some fairly good BDSM. He wanted to get them involved in a project to remake The Story of O, with better quality production values. He certainly had the contacts to get a hold of a chateau, and had already talked Carrie into reading the book.

  Since I had read the book, I figured that my two cents might be worth something. “Some of that stuff has to hurt, Cash; does Carrie know that? And getting your snatch pierced is sort of permanent.”

  “Digital nowadays,” he said. “You can do about anything.”

  “And a fifty-year-old book is going to stand up?”

  “Hey, it makes Fifty Shades of Grey look like a nursery rhyme.”

  “So does most of De Sade, but you don’t see Spielberg running to make a movie of Justine.”

  “You’ve read this?” Peter asked and I turned a scarlet so deep, my best smile couldn’t cover it.

  “I went through a phase,” I said. “And no, I didn’t finish Fifty Shades… it wasn’t on a par. O was by far the best, probably because a woman wrote it.”

  “How sexist,” chuckled Cash. “And you didn’t know she knew this?”

  “She was so much better than that when it came to practical application.”

  I looked like a stop sign with a smile painted on it for a while.

  The party trailed off as the sun went down. We ended up in the living room with his parents, sisters and brothers-in-law. I mean, talk about intimidated, two captains of industry, their wives, two Oscar winners and their son, and a little girl from Reseda with some minor expertise in faking a catfight.

  “Jeremy mentioned he wanted you to audition for his show,” Harrison directed at me.

  “Yes,” I responded. “I'm really flattered, but I don’t think I’ll do that well. I really don’t know how.”

  “Cash disagrees; he says you are very good at holding a character.”

  “That’s not hard really,” I said. “The things I’ve done are just two dimensional; you’re the heroine – the baby face, it’s called – or the villainess, which is called the heel, and you cheat.”

  “So it’s pro wrestling?”

  “Not on that level. We do get into some choreography; a few set routines, more to keep from getting hurt than anything else. It’s a simple character, like as a face, I’m sweet Little Lisa; as a heel I’m Terrible Tara.”

  “You hardly look like Terrible Tara,” said Sarah, Peter’s older sister.

  “Actions speak louder than looks, I guess. Tara always starts a match by sneaking up behind her opponent before the bell rings, and uses at least one ‘foreign object’ in the course of the ‘match.’ Lisa starts by getting attacked from behind and gets a ‘foreign object’ or two conked off her head before the match ends.”

  “A couple of the best actors I know are professional wrestlers,” said Harrison. “They perfect characters so well that – especially with a live audience, but through TV as well – they create whole love and hate relationships with an audience. That’s all acting is really: creating a relationship with your audience. When you read the character, you decide whether she’s sweet Little Lisa or Terrible Tara, and hold that persona in your mind as you read the lines. If you keep doing it, you develop a bunch of characters until you get to be me with a background of a few hundred characters to step into and out of like you do Lisa and Tara. Whether you realize it or not, you’ve got a leg up on most young actresses; you have actually experienced it, changed your persona and followed it out. Most of them haven’t; they’re just playing themselves and hoping to catch on.”

  “Even something as simple as I’ve done?”

  “It is simple,” said Harrison. “Lisa is a sweet little girl the guys want to protect and cuddle; Tara is a hellcat they want to fight to get into. It’s simple; you just convey which one to the audience. Cash says you’re his biggest draw because you seem to be able to do it.”

  “If I ever do it again, Cash and I are going to have a little talk about compensation.”

  “I don’t really think you’re going to do it again,” Rachel said, “so I doubt the question will come up.”

  I put the peignoir on. The situation just called for me to wear something, anything. Peter pushed me down on the bed and took it off. Then he did the perfect thing: nothing. He lay against my back, holding me over my breast and stomach and not moving, just being there for me. He seemed to know that all this had frightened me badly and I needed to be a little girl, safe and warm in his arms. We lay there, awake, it seemed
like half the night, although it probably wasn’t all that long. I couldn’t sleep and if he hadn’t been holding me, I would probably be up and pacing. I could feel that he was hard against my tush.

  “Time to switch beds,” I said and led him into the other room.

  I got us up on our sides pulled him into me and hooked his leg to hold him tight. Then I started to cry.

  I don’t think it bewildered him; I had just disarmed him before I started. I had his arms pinned in my embrace. One leg under him the other hooked by mine, and me, crying into the space between his neck and shoulder. Plus, he was inside and since I wasn’t moving, his arms were pinned; he was just stuck there.

  Well, I did get to cry myself out and was pretty much all cried out by the time I let him go and proceeded to try and make him cum, which, not at all surprisingly, took no time at all.

  “Still scared?” he said.

  “Yes.”

  “Will this help you face tomorrow?”

  “Immensely,” I responded.

  “They’re just ordinary people, you know.”

  “To you, and maybe if I had met them one at a time. But they sort of got thrown at me en masse. And then Cash; I mean, that wasn’t even half fair, not telling me about Cash.”

  “Would you have gone with me knowing Cash was my cousin?”

  I thought for a second. “Probably. Actually, I’ll amend that. About the only way I wouldn’t have gone with you would have been a straight out proposition for a paid sexual encounter. Anything else, I would have come without hesitation. You were – in fact, still are – the hottest, prettiest man on earth, and riding with you made me hot as hell long before we ever got to Sugarloaf. I cried when you didn’t stay with me that first night because I was afraid it would be just a job and I’d never get close to you.”

  “That was a trick. In the back of your knee…”

  “Is an erogenous zone,” I interrupted him. “I know that. You weren’t the first to touch it. You’re just the best out of those who did. Now, I need two apologies.”

  “Two?”

  “One for not telling me Cash was your cousin before we got here, and one for leaving me alone that first night.”

  “Is there any particular form you want these apologies to take?”

  I put his hands on my breasts and wiggled my nipples into his palms.

  “Physically is preferable,” I said.

  He’d just cum, so while it was probably a bit uncomfortable for him to start, he had time. I got every erogenous zone from my toes to my ears kissed, licked and massaged. I was shaking and my entire focus was not to moan, so I was quietly squeaking. Once he got his tongue between my bush and my leg, I felt like I was flying somewhere between the ceiling and the bed, biting my tongue. When he got his fingers against my pelvis I came about three times before he slipped into me and I just couldn’t help vocalizing it.

  “Not the first time it’s happened up here,” he said. “The room’s pretty much sound proof.”

  “You’re a little bit late with that information,” I said.

  The next morning at breakfast, we were coming in from our various directions. Cash even walked all the way from next door to join us. Okay, only mansions have sound proof rooms for loud sex and a quarter mile to walk for breakfast.

  “I got you the Doran first, a pristine copy,” said Anabelle, the middle sister who had publicly disowned him, after his last acting performance. “Your friend also sent along Princess Mary’s Gift Book.”

  He reached over and squeezed my hand. “The last pieces of the puzzle,” he said. “Do any of you want to see my fairy princess here?”

  We all moved into the library where they could stream his memory stick on the 85” screen of the smart TV and there I was, flying.

  I got more praise than he did for the photos, which I didn’t think was fair, it was his idea and he did all the real work. Still, there were a half dozen where you almost couldn’t tell the difference and it looked like the original fairy had just been colorized.

  “There’s a third persona for you,” said Harrison. “Admittedly pantomime, but look at yourself, you’re portraying a fairy, or at least the idea everyone has of a fairy. There is something carefree, slightly crazy in it, and you’ve got it in almost all the photos. When you act, your whole being is involved in it, you cease to be you and become someone, or even in this case, something else. You do that naturally, and well.”

  “I already noted that,” said Cash.

  “Then how come I was on the bottom of the pay scale?” I asked.

  “Because you kept your pants on; you know that,” Cash said unabashedly. “I’m not selling acting. I just mentioned that you were a natural at it.”

  “I thought all the stuff you did was nude,” said Sarah.

  “For the most part, it ends up that way,” explained Cash. “Mary wouldn’t go the whole route, but she was just too good not to use.”

  “That’s a pretty high recommendation there,” Rachel said. “I mean appearing clothed in a nudie and still being the top draw. Would you please go get the album, Harry? The poor girl is drowning in embarrassment and she shouldn’t be.”

  A change of memory sticks and there was Peter’s mom, naked as the day she was born, in a series of poses from when she was considerably younger.

  “The last set was one of the last sessions photographer Bunny Yeager did before she semi-retired,” Rachel continued. “She wanted to take them to Playboy, but I’d just gotten my journalism degree, my first job and the handsomest rich boy around as my new boyfriend; none of which worked really well with having Hugh Hefner sticking staples in my navel. I’d done Gent, Swanky Town and some calendars to get through school, and I know about catfights because I did two for Cavalier. You’re not alone here, my dear. There is nothing wrong with a little exhibitionism if you have the goods to exhibit.”

  I changed clothes before we left. I changed back to the mini and nylons from the wrap shirt and leggings. When we got in the car, I rolled down my left hose to my boot top and put my leg up next to the gearshift.

  “I am due a second apology as soon as we get home and I want to be sure I’m in the proper mood for it,” I said.

  We drove back through Ventura, and then north of LA proper, Pasadena, Glendale, Burbank, stopping at both Trader Joe’s and Whole Foods. He would reach over to my knee when traffic allowed and, well it was working out. It had been a pretty tough weekend for me, I wish I’d known about his mother earlier, but then again, is it something you advertise to an almost stranger? That Mom got through Journalism school posing nude?

  It was basically the same road we’d taken the previous Monday, and I was getting hot and wet, just like the previous week. The fact that now I knew why didn’t seem to make much difference. It was all pretty hard to digest. But then, I supposed it was going to get stranger. Here I was, head over heels in love with a guy so rich he probably didn’t know from moment to moment exactly how rich he was, from a famous family with two Oscar winners, and major corporations lying around like houseplants. Plus, he had a mother who understood me and had been through some of the same things I had. And to top it all off, I was set up for an audition for a part in a TV show in nine days. Just one week ago, I was too broke to pay attention, hoping a bad gig with an, I thought, amateur night production would, somehow, turn out to be a big break. And that’s the way it turned out. I had never had any indication from any previous life experience that such a thing was possible.

  We stocked his cabin first, then mine. After we put all the food away, I thought I had him cornered when he picked me up and laid me face first on the bed and went to work with his mouth and hands on the leg he’d been playing with since about Carpentaria. He didn’t stop until I squealed, then he stripped me and went into the bathroom. He came out almost stripped, and went back to work; but now on both legs, licking the inside of them up and down while massaging the back of my knees between licking them. He turned me over and started on my breasts and t
he insides of my arms, leaving me squealing and shivering.

  I was getting through this ambush when he finally put a hand between my legs and, after all that buildup, I was about to orgasm with a touch. And then with another touch and… if they were listening in Santa Barbara, they’d have pretty much known what was going on. He pulled me up on my side with his hand across the back of my knee, opening me up to him, though at that point, I suppose it was more like taking a seat on a bucking bronco. I mean he had me going wild, and when he finally came, I practically hugged him into two pieces.

  “Apology accepted?” he asked.

  “If I can catch my breath long enough.”

  “You were the one who suggested we start one hundred and eighty miles away.”

  “Remind me to do that more often. God, I can’t move. Do you have any concept of what one orgasm does to you? Jesus, don’t you dare.”

  He had his hand on my breast, his other hand on my knee and he was licking up the inside of my arm. He didn’t stop and I was too exhausted to resist. He made me come me two more times before sliding inside of me.

  Sometime during the weekend’s activities, I guess he figured out that the inside of my arms were, well, major with me. I had hidden that for a week, but apparently the cat was out of the bag because he spent Monday taking every opportunity to brush the inside of my arms, especially behind my elbow, while posing me. It was all I could do to make it through work and sit patiently through another amazing dinner before I was able to take him to bed.

  I stripped him. Licked him clean, like a cat making sure with my paws, rubbing my nipples into his chest, sliding my legs over his, and not letting him up until he came. Then I clung to his back, licking him until he was ready to make a serious attempt at a second time, which I wiggled and squeezed out of him.

  “That will teach you to mess around with my arms,” I said.

  He just reached up, pulled my right arm down, and started working on it with his tongue. His other hand rubbed the inside of my leg, making me shiver and squeak once more. Then he settled himself soundly between my thighs and went to work. After I was through telling the San Bernardino National Forest all about it, loudly, we had pretty much exhausted each other.