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Going Up By Cal Y. Pygia Siren was perturbed at herself. After months of fruitless effort, she'd managed, at last, to land an audition for her first speaking part in a major motion picture. The scene in which she'd appear, if she was selected, required nudity--and full-frontal nudity, at that--but it might, at long last, be her stepping stone to stardom--well, eventual stardom. For now, she'd settle on gaining a little name recognition from the exposure, which the film's director, Harvey Kurtz, assured her was "virtually certain," if she landed the part. "After all," he'd reminded her, "it's not every day that someone like you--someone with your particular appeal--comes along." Waiting for the elevator to descend to her floor, she had to smile. Mr. Kurtz was certainly right about that, she thought. She shouldn't have gone to Del's Deli for lunch, though. Although popular, it was far away--and crowded. Still, Mr. Kurtz had suggested she try the place, and had asked her to bring him a sandwich back. After she'd ordered and eaten her meal, she'd had only 25 minutes to scurry the four blocks back to the studio and descend the three floors below the basement level to the costume department for the adjustments she needed to her gown before filming her scene. Mr. Kurtz was a great director, as personable as he was professional, but, the other film's other actors--the established ones--had warned her, he brook neither absences nor tardiness. Her audition was to be filmed in--she glanced at her watch, and a spear of panic stabbed her--only 10 minutes, and she'd better be on her mark and ready to be filmed. She watched the indicator above the closed doors to the elevator shaft as it announced the descending car's arrival at the floors above her own: 10, 9, 8, 7. Come on! Come on! she pleaded silently. Hurry! The indicator continued to track the car's agonizingly slow descent: 6, 5, 4, 3, 2. At last, the damned indicator read "1." The doors slid apart, and a middle-age man in a handsome, three-piece suit--expensive, by the look of the fabric and its cut--smiled at her. Vaguely, it registered with Siren that he was handsome, if graying, with blue eyes, bright-white teeth, and deep dimples in a tanned face. She stepped into the interior of the car, and punched the button labeled "B3," which signified the building's third sub-basement level. The car lurched, and Siren thought, Oh, my God! The damned thing's going to stall! If she were trapped inside a stalled elevator, she'd miss her audition for sure. As a result, her hoped-for Hollywood career would be over before it had begun. She had a sick, sinking feeling in her stomach, and tears welled in her eyes. She choked back the bile rising in her throat. Please don't get stuck! she pleaded silently to the elevator car. Please don't! As if in answer to her appeal, the car descended, and she breathed a sigh of relief. A few moments--and a lifetime--later, the car settled roughly to a rest, and the doors parted. If she ran, she could still make it in time to get her gown adjusted and get to the soundstage before her audition. She could still save her career! Siren sprang forward, dashing through the doorway and into the corridor that led to the costume shop. RIP! She felt cool air upon her bare flesh--not just upon her face and arms and back and lower legs, which her gown, by design, hadn't covered, but upon her breasts and tummy and thighs and bottom as well! As called for by the script, she'd been wearing neither bra nor panties beneath the gown, and, she realized, with horror, that she was stark naked. The elevator doors, closing, had caught her gown and, as the car ascended, had stripped the costume from her body. She glanced left and right. Thank God, no one was in sight. No one had seen her! But what was she to do? Her outfit--the one she was supposed to have had adjusted--had been ruined. She had no other, and she was due on the set in five minutes, exactly. The sound of applause startled her, and Siren spun around, to face the bastard, whoever it was, who was clapping. It was the handsome, graying man with the sharp blue eyes and the expensive, tailored suit, her elevator companion. "You're quite beautiful," he told her, still applauding, "with or without clothes." Although he was a stranger, Siren couldn't help but to confide in him. She had no one else to talk to, and she needed, desperately, to talk to someone. "If only you knew what this means, you wouldn't be so cavalier," she said, tears spilling from her eyes. She looked at him through the watery curtain. His features were blurred. "Or maybe you'd clap even louder," she said. He smiled at her, lowering his hands. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said. "It was insensitive of me to applaud the misfortune of a lady in distress-- except that--well, you aren't really a lady, are you? Not quite a lady." Siren's loss of her gown had exposed not only her womanly breasts and feminine fanny; but it had also revealed her cock and balls. Although they were small and boyishly cute, the circumcised penis and small testicles within the dangling scrotum were also, nevertheless, quite obviously masculine. Siren groaned. No one was supposed to know her little secret before, during her scene, her gown was ripped away by a suitor who thereby learned that his intended sweetheart was a shemale rather than a female. The rest of the movie was then concerned with whether he loved her for herself, as a person, or whether he'd been merely interested in bedding a beautiful woman--or what he'd supposed was a woman. Siren didn't know whether her suitor would retain his interest in her, nor did the actor, Todd Thanes, who played the young man. No one knew, except, perhaps, Mr. Kurtz, and he wasn't saying. Blubbering, she sobbed out her predicament to the stranger. He listened patiently. Then, he summoned the elevator. "I think I can help you," he told the actress. "But, first, we'd better get you something to wear, don't you think?" Siren nodded. She'd quite forgotten, in her anxiety, that she was stark naked. If anyone else saw her like this, the passerby might call security--or even the police. "We'll go to my office," he suggested. Siren, through her tears, gave him an arch look. Was the handsome man with the tanned faced and graying hair her knight in shining armor or was he just an opportunist? Was he a rescuer or a villain? He could be a rapist for all she knew. Despite his friendly, fatherly demeanor, he was, after all, a complete stranger to her. Still, what alternative did she have? None. She nodded her agreement. "Okay. Thanks." The elevator seemed to take an eternity to arrive, and it appeared nothing less than a miracle that no one else happened along to see her naked, cock and balls, breasts and buttocks, on display for anyone who chanced to pass by to see. Of course, the elevator might stop at another floor--or other floors--on the way up, too. Siren thought it was more or less a certainty that she'd be seen by someone other than her benefactor--or the man, she hoped, at least would turn out to be a benefactor, rather than a rapist or worse. Finally, the elevator car arrived, and she stepped inside, the graying man joining her. At once, he put her fears to rest. Producing an odd- looking key, he inserted it into a slot inside the panel on the wall beside the closed doors, where the buttons for the various floors were located. He twisted the key. "This a manual override device," he told the actress. "Now that I've used it, the elevator won't respond to anyone else's summons. It will take us straight to the top floor." He smiled at her again. "Going up?" he asked. She nodded. He pressed the button labeled "94." Siren gave her companion a measured look. "Your office is on the top floor?" He nodded. "But there's only one office on the top floor," she said, her eyes widening. "Mr. Fenton's." Charles Fenton was the president of the studio. He nodded again, but, this time, the bob of his head was accompanied by a faint smile. He extended his hand. "Charlie Fenton," he introduced himself, "at your service." Siren stared at him, dumbfounded, as she shook his hand. She was standing naked in an elevator car with the president of the whole fucking studio? Such a situation was more than simply absurd; it was impossible--and, yet, here she was. "And whom do I have the pleasure of addressing?" Charlie prompted her. She felt herself blush, the heat of her blood rushing through her reddening cheeks. "Siren, sir." "Siren Sir," he repeated, as if the title with which she'd addressed him were her surname. "That's an odd name." "Siren Call," she corrected him. She rolled her eyes at the silliness of the appellation. "That's my stage name," she explained. "It was my manager's idea." "I like it." "Do you, sir? Really?" His smile widened. "Really," he confirmed. "As much as I like my own name. Please. Call me 'Charlie.'" "Yes, sir--I mean, Charlie." He surveyed her nudity. His eyes moved from her breasts to her prick and back. The nipples, unlike the penis, were erect. He supposed it was from the coolness of the air-conditioning. Without her gown, she must be chilled. He offered her his coat. "Oh, no, sir--" "Charlie," he insisted. "Thank you, Charlie, but I couldn't." "Although it's a shame to cover such lovely breasts as yours, you can and, I insist, you will." She smiled faintly, accepting the jacket he'd removed and offered to her. She shrugged into the coat. "Thank you." "You're welcome. How did you come to be in such a predicament, I wonder," he said. "I've seen other women get their dresses caught in these doors. The elevator itself may be slow, but those doors are quick enough. Too quick for some. Nevertheless, I've never seen a lady lose her clothes in them before." "Oh, I can explain that," Siren said. "The gown was a tear-away." Charlie frowned, perplexed. "A tear-away?" "Like a breakaway chair. You know, like the ones stunt men hit one another with during a brawl or a fight in a saloon. Instead of being designed to breakaway, though, my gown was designed to tear away." She told him about the upcoming scene, in which she was to lose her gown before the astonished eyes of her boyfriend, who had no clue as to her transgender status. He chuckled. "That would be quite a surprise, all right," he said. "If I were he, though, I'd love you just as much as before, maybe more." She seemed to distrust his veracity. "Would you?" He nodded, holding her eyes with his own. "I would." She smiled, reassured. "I believe you would." The elevator car lurched to an abrupt stop. They'd reached their destination. As the doors opened and they stepped from the elevator, Siren blanched. "Your secretary! She can't see me like this." Charlie smiled at her chagrin. "Don't worry. My office has a private entrance." "Let's hurry, before someone sees me," Siren suggested. They reached a paneled door. Charlie inserted a keycard, and the deadbolt unlocked with a faint sliding sound. He opened the door, ushering the shemale into his inner sanctum. "You're in luck," he told her. "Kurtz just sent me up a new tear-away dress." Siren looked puzzled. "I guess I micro-manage too much. Anyway, I like to have final approval on all the details, including costumes and props. After all, if we lose money on the movies we make, it's my ass, not Kurtz's, that's in a sling. I can let you borrow the tear-away, and you can wear it for your audition." "There won't be an audition now," Siren lamented, "not one with me in it, at least." "Why not?" "Mr. Kurtz. He doesn't abide tardiness or absence from the set." "He will when he reads the note I'm going to give you." Siren felt suspicious again. Why was the president of the studio being so nice to her? She was a nobody. What did he want in exchange for helping her? A blowjob? A piece of ass? In her experience, men, even friendly men, weren't nice for no reason, not when it came to a beautiful woman or, in her case, a beautiful transsexual. Still, she had no choice but to accept his offer to provide her with a new gown and a note excusing her absence from the set. Inwardly, she shrugged at the thought that she'd have to suck Charlie's cock or take it up her ass--or both. Such an exchange of favors might be quid pro quo, but it was certainly worth it. She might become a star yet, especially with Charlie Fenton in her corner. She looked around the spacious room. Carpeted in burgundy, it was elegantly furnished and decorated. Everything was polished or burnished and shone or glinted. A small maple desk with a Tiffany lamp, backed with a deep-cushioned executive's chair, bore a laptop computer, and a wooden file cabinet, also of maple, occupied one of the corners, near the draped and shaded windows. On both side walls, maple bookcases boasted leather-bound, gilt-edge volumes of some of the world's greatest authors. A large, cut-glass chandelier was the main light source, but it was not illuminated. There were a maple couch and a matching loveseat, both upholstered in velvet, a maple coffee table with a glass top in front of the former. A bar held two dozen bottles of various liquors, and there were crystal goblets, wineglasses, and steins on glass shelves behind the bar. A brass ice bucket occupied the end of a nearby countertop, beside which was a small sink. A side room was furnished with a king-size bed and dresser, of matching maple. Off the bedroom, a full bath opened. "Your office has a bedroom--and a bath?" Siren asked, incredulity in her tone. "This is more my den. My office--the one in which I do most of the studio's business--is through that connecting door--" he motioned toward a heavy paneled door between the bar and a mural that looked suspiciously like the work of Rembrandt--"but, had we gone there, we'd have had to pass through Ms. Hendricks' office first." "Ms. Hendricks?" "My secretary." "Oh. I'm glad we didn't, then." "Me, too. Would you care for a drink?" "Oh, I couldn't. I don't have time. My audition--" "I'm writing a note for you, remember? Kurtz will audition you." "Just the same, I think I'll pass, if you don't mind." "I don't mind at all. Let me get you the tear-away." He left her studying the mural as he went into his bedroom. It portrayed a reclining nude woman, lying upon her left side, her back toward the viewer, a wrinkled white fabric not unlike a bed sheet beneath her. Her arms were folded over her breasts, the right one of which was visible to the elbow. Her hair was thick and dark, and a strand of the straight tresses lay along her back, parallel with the hollow, sweeping curve of her spine. Her buttocks, although ample by current standards, were smooth, and her thighs were thick, though sleek. The lower halves of her upper legs were draped with a fold of golden fabric of a satiny sheen. A placid blue lake--or, perhaps, a river--lay beyond a screen of low green shrubs, the shapes of which were but indistinctly rendered, as was the suggestion of the bank that ran parallel to the water, along the top of the scene. Charlie returned, bearing in his hands a gown even lovelier than the one that Siren--or the elevator doors--had ruined. "I hope it fits," she said, accepting his offering. Charlie chuckled. "It'll fit," he predicted. "The girls Kurtz auditions are always the same size. You can try it on in there, if you like." He nodded toward the bedroom. "Thanks." She took the gown into the room that Charlie had just vacated. It was beautiful. Simple but elegant, the black velvet gown, slit to the thigh on either side, was both strapless and sleeveless, with a plunging neckline and a low back. Its full, sweeping skirt was adorned with large burnt velvet floral appliqu?s and gold leaves. On a mannequin, it would hang straight, if rather limp, but Siren's curves would fill out the dress, her breasts, hips, and buttocks giving the dark fabric a seductive look that the gown, of itself, could never achieve. Having donned the dress, turning this way and that as she regarded herself in the full-length mirror on the bathroom wall, it was difficult to believe that the stitching had been deliberately sewn so that the whole gown would split apart easily under only slight resistance. Siren knew that it would do so, though, just as the dress she'd been wearing earlier this afternoon, upon being caught in the closed doors of the elevator, had split apart and fallen away from her, leaving her naked. This dress, lovely though it looked, was seriously flawed. It was a tear-away gown, meant to come apart at the seams when pulled even slightly. It was a pity that she'd be able to model something so lovely for only a few minutes on film, she thought. Still, she could enjoy wearing it for the time being. She smiled, as she said to the beautiful woman in the beautiful dress in the looking-glass, "Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who's the fairest of them all?" Turning, she started for the door, to thank her benefactor. She paused, considering the idea that had just presented itself to her. She smiled. Yes, she told herself, she would do it! It was the least she could do for him--besides, it might help her career. At the least, Charlie would be apt to put in a good word for her with Mr. Kurtz, and, with a reference from the studio's president, the director might well decide that Siren Call's audition had won her the part in the film that could make her a star or, at least, a familiar face on the silver screen. Her smile became a grin as she removed the tear-away gown and set it carefully aside. She returned, naked, to Charlie's den. He was sipping a drink when she returned. Puzzled, he set the glass down. "Didn't the dress fit?" "Perfectly." He frowned. "So why aren't you wearing it?" "I wanted to thank you," she said. She crossed the room, draping her arms around his neck. Pressing her firm, high, round breasts into his pleated shirtfront, she kissed his lips, gently at first, and then more firmly. He drew back. "This isn't necessary," he told her. "I didn't expect you to--" "I know," she replied, kissing him again. "I want to." Her hands traveled down his back, gliding over the taut muscles beneath the silk fabric of his shirt and the fine wool trousers. Through the dark fabric, she gave his tight buttocks a playful squeeze. She opened her mouth. Her tongue, wet and tender, slid between his lips, probing the interior of his mouth. Charlie's penis swelled, stiffening. The fly of his trousers bulged. As if she were aware of this transformation, Siren's hand cupped his genitals, squeezing them gently but insistently, and they responded to her touch, his prick enlarging further and his tightening scrotum rising. She let her tongue slide back through his lips, trailing a thin strand of saliva. Her hand gave his burgeoning cock another, firmer squeeze. "What did you think, when you first saw me naked, with my little 'secret' exposed?" Siren asked him. Her voice was soft and seductive, a wanton whisper. "Were you excited to see a chick with a dick? Did you like what you saw?" Charlie gulped. When he spoke, his voice was hoarse. "Yes," he admitted. "Very much. I mean, I'm not--you know, gay--but--" She stilled him, placing a forefinger against his lips. "I know," she said. "You're beautiful," he said. "Exotic." "Do you want me?" He nodded. His voice still raspy, he said, "Yes." "Would you like me to suck your cock?" "Yes." "Would you like to fuck my ass?" "Please." "Come on, then, my knight in shining armor." She took him by the hand and led him across the den and into the bedroom. "Let's make love." She didn't have to issue a second invitation. Charlie sat on the edge of the bed, spreading his knees wide, and Siren knelt on the carpet, before him. She liked being on her knees, naked, with a man's erection only inches from her face. It was mildly humiliating--and intensely erotic. She could smell his male scent. The faintly musky aroma wasn't at all unpleasant. To her, it was more like a cologne. She breathed in the aroma as she studied the genitals she was about to make love to with her mouth. Charlie's cock was as perfect as if it had been sculpted by a consummate artist. The rigid column of flesh rose from the dense thicket of his pubic hair and, lined with blue veins and topped by a once-pink gumdrop- glans that had ripened to a deep purple, looked as inviting as an exotic fruit. The egg-shaped testicles, clearly outlined within the taut, risen pouch of his scrotum, seemed to beg to be touched and kissed, although their silent pleas, Siren knew, were but the echoes of her own desires. Bending forward, she parted her lips to let the tip of her moist, pink tongue slide forth and licked the smooth-rough flesh of the studio president's tightly drawn scrotum. She could feel the firm ovals of his testicles through the bag of flesh. These--the repositories of his sperm--rolled gently before the tender pressure of her lapping tongue. She gave his balls another stroke, wetting the pouch of skin with her saliva, before, opening her mouth more widely, she took one of his testicles inside the warm, wet interior of her oral cavity. She imagined that the testicle was a choice morsel of food, rolling it back and forth, from side to side, upon her tongue as she flexed the inner walls of her cheeks against it, as if savoring the delicacy's taste. Then, she let the egg-shaped gland slip free of her mouth, replacing it with its twin. A man, she knew, loved to have a woman--or a shemale--take his balls into her mouth. A chick, with or without a dick, who'd do such a thing would do anything--at least, that's what men, in their vanity, told themselves. It was hard for men--straight men, anyway--to imagine anyone wanting to take a guy's balls into her mouth; consequently, anyone who did so demonstrated her--or, as the case may be, his-- willingness to do whatever else her partner wanted her to do as well. Or so, in her experience, men tended to suppose. Letting Charlie's other testicle slip free of her oral embrace, Siren licked the smooth column of his rigid prick. Despite the slightly musky scent of his genitals, his cock had no taste. Nevertheless, licking its shaft reminded Siren of licking a thick, long, hard peppermint stick. Cock sucking really was much like sucking a lollipop or, to be more specific, a stick of candy, she thought. It may not be sweet, literally, as candy was, but a firm prick was certainly as fun--or more fun, actually--than sucking on a candy cane. She tipped her head, and the gumdrop-glans penetrated her lips. Slowly, she pushed her head down, sliding the "O" of her mouth down the rigid rod of flesh, feeling her mouth glide down, over and along, the taut skin covering the hard, swollen shaft and the bulging veins within his dick. Charlie moaned. Tickling sensations danced within his balls, and his anus fluttered. His thighs quaked, muscles flexing. He watched Siren's head bob up and down; watched her lush red hair bounce and shake; watched her sweet, lovely face, frowning with concentration; and watched her rounded lips, plunging and withdrawing, back and forth, upon his distended organ. Her velvet-soft lips; her tender, wet tongue; and the watery inner cheeks of her mouth enveloped, bathed, and stroked his manhood, her drool dribbling down his shaft and balls. Charlie watched his prick vanish and reappear between her lips as she pumped them up and down upon his straining, lurching shaft in a slow, steady rhythm. With her lovely face stuffed with cock, she looked up at him, her wide blue eyes going crescent as she smiled, signaling her pleasure. Silently, she expressed her sense of privilege and honor at being allowed to service him in this manner. Her obvious enjoyment of the intimate act--an act that men--straight men, at least--would find abhorrent was, for her, a source of satisfaction, maybe even joy, and her delight shone on her lovely, radiant face. Her enjoyment excited him as much as her sucking of his cock, and he returned her smile. Patting her head, he said, "You're a good little cock sucker, baby. Oh, you know how to please a man, you do!" Pausing, she removed her mouth from his penis, giving the purple glans an affectionate kiss, followed by a series of licks, treating the organ as if it were a delicious ice cream cone that she must tend to with care, lest it melt before she'd had the chance to enjoy it fully. Her tongue traveled down the fleshly stalk of his manhood to lap at his balls. She kissed his taut, risen scrotum, planting smooches on each of his testicles before taking the smooth column of rigid flesh back into her mouth to tease it further toward orgasm. Her head bobbed up and down, the tempo of her motions increasing as Charlie groaned and shifted on the mattress, his need for release half pleasure, half desperation. Her lips slid back up his cock, toward the tip, and, holding the end of his member in her mouth as a bitch holds a bone, she shook her head vigorously back and forth before jabbing her rounded lips up and down in quick, short, jerking movements that brought Charlie near the end of his endurance. "Stop!" he demanded. Releasing his swollen cock, she looked up at him, the very picture of innocence, and coyly asked, "Is something wrong?" "I want to finish in your ass," he told her. Siren drew a forefinger across her lips, wiping away the saliva that moistened these facial labia, and winked at the studio president. She rose, and Charlie saw that her own diminutive, circumcised shemale's cock was stiff, like his own, jutting from her shaved pubes. Her small balls jiggled, like ornaments, below the root of her manhood, such as it was. She grinned. "That'll be my pleasure," she said. The executive stood, allowing the aspiring actress to climb into his bed. She crawled onto the comforter that, except for a few wrinkles, remained tight and well tucked in, the way her own little penis was whenever she dressed in short shorts, hot-pants, a mini-skirt, form- fitting slacks, or other revealing garb. She lowered her upper body, positioning herself upon her elbows and knees, rather than upon her hands and knees, spreading her legs, her magnificent ass high in the air and her satin-soft, but firm, buttocks slightly parted. The sight of her in this position, ready and willing to be penetrated by him, brought Charlie even more fully erect, and his prick throbbed with the blood pounding within its thick blue veins. Siren was truly a beautiful woman- -or transwoman--and it was going to be a joy to fuck her deep and hard in her lovely ass. Positioning himself behind her, he peered down, past his flat belly, past his tangled pubes, past his erect, pointing penis and contracted scrotum, to gaze upon the Valentine's heart shape of her buttocks. He was overwhelmed by the desire to be inside her, to be thrusting into her depths with the regularity and efficiency of a machine. He wanted to feel those smooth cheeks slide past the column of his cock as he lunged against them. However, he repressed his lust. He wanted to enjoy himself with her. He needn't rush. By taking his time and prolonging his session with Siren, he could appreciate more completely his enjoyment of her charms. Holding his cock at its root, he flexed his slightly bent knees as he pointed his massive erection between the swells of her buttocks, jabbing playfully at the anus between the full, round cheeks of her splendid ass. He stifled the urge to plunge his prick through her asshole, teasing her with it instead. He pressed just the glans against her sphincter, dipping his hips up and down so that the tip of his cock repeatedly poked her cleavage, kissing her anal opening. Siren was patient. She, too, could wait, it appeared, and did not seem to want to rush their lovemaking any more than he did. As he jabbed his cock against the anus within her cleavage, she smiled, looking back at him over her left shoulder and wriggling her buttocks teasingly, invitingly, her blue eyes crescent with good humor. Charlie jabbed at her asshole with his cock a few more times. Then, he paused, taking a tube of anal lube from the nightstand beside the bed. He slathered the cream on both his erect member and its target, Siren's asshole, feeling how small and tight the opening was. Even after he'd widened it, and the passage of his prick was eased with the lubricant he was applying, the opening to her bowels would fit him snugly, he thought, increasing the pleasure of the sensations their coupling would afford them both. Taking his rigid erection in his fist, Charlie pointed the massive organ into the deep cleavage of Siren's arched buttocks, guiding his member toward its dimpled target. As his rubbery glans pressed against her asshole, his cock met the stout resistance of her sphincter. His progress was halted, almost at the moment he'd begun, his prick bunching back against itself. He gripped his penis closer to its tip, and resolutely pressed forward with his hips, driving an inch or two of his dick through her anus. Siren lowered her head, gasping as she felt the thick, hard column force its way past the portal to her bowels. She held her breath, waiting, and Charlie, his other hand spread flat upon the small of her back, both to steady himself and to keep her still, fed inch after inch of his long, rigid cock into her ass, filling her with the organ's thick shaft. Her head dropped lower, her shoulders sagging, and she released her pent-up breath in a long sigh that ended in a low moan, whether of discomfort or arousal--or both--Charlie could not say. The sound, however, excited him further, and he nudged his thighs forward, planting his cock to the very hilt inside her, his pubes rasping against her impaled buttocks as his groin and upper legs ground against her bottom, flattening her full cheeks between their coupled bodies. Looking down at his hips, pressed firmly into her compressed buttocks, it seemed impossible that an erection as massive as his could penetrate such a tiny opening as her anus, lubricated or not, but, of course, it had accomplished just such a marvelous feat, for the thick, hard organ was buried inside her ass, all the way to his balls. Again, a low moan escaped Siren, and she rested the side of her face upon her right forearm. Her eyes were closed. Her lips were slightly parted, and she bit gently at the tip of her protruding tongue. Her brow was knitted. She seemed troubled, Charlie thought, but, perhaps, she was merely concentrating. Crammed with cock, Siren's wide-spread anus fluttered frantically about the massive member that had invaded her rectum, as if in a valiant, but vain, effort to dislodge the trespassing organ. She had never felt so completely stuffed; it seemed that the mere presence of Charlie's gigantic prick inside her would split her in half. How could she accommodate a man of such length and girth? His prick was the size of a horse's cock, or so it seemed to her, impaled upon the monster organ as she was. Her guts seemed to churn, and she felt queasy, as if she must shit or puke or both, although, she told herself, this feeling, like the impulses that attended it, was probably psychological, rather than physiological, in origin. She wasn't repulsed by having a cock up her ass. Quite the contrary; the rigid length inside her anus and rectum was exciting, and she was thrilled by the sensations of being stuffed and occupied. Her perceived need to evacuate her bowels was purely emotional, she told herself, inspired by the novelty of being so fully filled, so completely packed, with cock. She'd had other men's pricks inside her, many times, but she'd never had one as huge as Charlie's colossal cock up her ass before, and its presence inside her probably alarmed her on a visceral level as well as a psychological level, prompting the apparent need to eliminate the prick as if it were an unusually long and firm turd impacting her bowels. Fortunately, Charlie, having penetrated her, was content to pause, no doubt enjoying this initial phase of his conquest, and her sphincter, relaxing, widened, accepting the presence of his prick within her bottom. The anal spasms subsided, and the frown on her lovely face vanished. The tip of her tongue retreated into her mouth, and her eyes opened. Tears had welled up, behind the closed lids, and they spilled now, down her soft cheeks. They were tears not of pain or discomfort, she knew, but expressions of the anxiety she'd felt upon being impaled upon so enormous a male member, an anxiety that she no longer experienced, now that her asshole, having relaxed and expanded, had accepted the inevitability of the cock's presence and the ravishment of her bottom that the prick's occupation of her bowels foretold. Charlie's hips retreated as he drew his long prick back through her widened, but still snug, asshole. He watched inch after inch of his thick, hard member reappear from her depths as he eased the fleshly column out of her bowels. It slid easily through the slick lubricant until only the glans remained within her sphincter, propping her ass open, as it were. He paused for a moment, anticipating the pleasure he'd feel upon reinserting his cock, and then he drove the length of his organ back through her asshole and deep into her rectum, not pausing until, once again, he'd mashed the smooth, soft cushions of her buttocks flat against his pubes and his prick was fully lodged inside her again, to his very balls. Siren grunted, feeling the mighty cock plunge into her bowels with a speed and force that Charlie had not exhibited before this moment. It was a tempo he'd continue, however, and he withdrew the length of his enormous erection only to shove it, hard and fast--and harder and faster with each new stroke--back inside her, until he was all but ravishing the actress. Each time his prick entered her again, it was as if it were the first time it had violated her. Each lunge and plunge, each poke and stroke seemed as if it must, this time, surely, split her asunder, but she accommodated him, as unlikely--indeed, as impossible--as such a feat appeared to her, absorbing every bash and smash of his belly, pubes, and thighs against her bottom, though the collisions rocked her entire frame, jostling her own cock and balls and making her hanging breasts bounce and quiver. Quicker still--and more violently--he assailed her, driving his prick so fast and furiously that he seemed a machine rather than a man. Her breasts jiggled and swayed, and her cock, hard and swollen like her tormentor's, swung to and fro between her legs, like the clapper of a bell or the pendulum of a metronome, keeping time to the tempo and the rhythm of his ravishing assault. Squashed before his pounding pubes, her punished buttocks sprang back to fullness with his every momentary retreat, only to flatten again before the next plunge of his cock into her ass and the ram of his groin into her bottom. Siren groaned. She'd never been so crammed so full of cock, and Charlie's prick seemed indefatigable. The man's stamina was unbelievable. Many a younger man had lost all control of himself long before now, spurting his semen into her ass or over her buttocks and back, but, somehow, Charlie managed to avoid the onset of orgasm, continuing to pound away at her, his cock like a piston inside the cylinder of her ass. After his next backstroke, the studio president halted so that half his cock, rather than just the glans, remained inside Siren's impaled bottom. He thrust into her, penetrating her to his balls, and withdrew again until, as before, half his penis remained within her bottom. Jiggling his hips back and forth, he sent his member rapidly in and out of her asshole with an intensity that was more characteristic of a machine than a man, the organ sliding smoothly back and forth within the lubricated portal to her bowels. After twenty or so such shortened strokes, he resumed his delivery of the longer ones, driving his dick into her ass to his pubic hair before pulling out to renew his ongoing onslaught against her beleaguered bottom. Although he delivered long strokes in place of the shorter strokes, he did so with the same rapidity as before, slamming frantically into her backside and making her body shudder and quake, her breasts bounce, and her own penis jiggle, dance, and sway. She tried not to cry out, although his penis was so large, and his fucking so forceful and passionate, that he was actually hurting her. No doubt, Siren supposed, he'd rip the tender tissues of her rectum or even the stout ring of muscle that protected the entrance to her bowels. But he could not last forever, she consoled herself. Even a man with a cock the size of a horse's had to reach orgasm at some point. If she could just hold on, she could outlast him rather than having to disappoint him by ending their coupling before he'd ejaculated his seed inside her or, as he chose, upon her. She'd prefer to see him through to his climax, if possible, but--she winced--if the discomfort became pain, rather than mere discomfort, she'd end their session, anyway. Again and again, his oversize cock slammed into her ass, and he felt the massive member slide through her slick, lubricated anus, past the slippery sphincter, and into the more commodious and accommodating depths of her rectum. With every thrust, he resolved to lunge still harder and more forcefully, to plunge into her depths as fully as possible, seating his manhood inside her as completely as he might, even if his occupation lasted but a moment before, temporarily withdrawing, he renewed the attack for the hundredth--or the thousandth--time. Despite her desire to remain mute, enduring his fucking of her ass in silence, grunts and groans escaped her, and she sighed and sobbed, her face contorted in grief and her mind aflame with passion mingled with fear. Maybe Charlie was big enough to rip her to shreds inside, after all, she thought. Again, tears spilled from her tightly closed eyes, and she choked back a sob, intent upon not bawling or blubbering and refusing to give utterance to her anxiety or to vent the despair that mushroomed inside her. It was he, not she, who cried out as orgasm seized and shook him to his very core and his semen spewed, thick and warm, against her entrails. His vocalization was more like a wolf's howl than a human cry as, his heart pounding, lungs panting, legs scissoring, buttocks clenching, anus fluttering, and cock straining and lurching within her rectum, he spewed more of his viscid seed inside her depths. It felt to him as if his balls had exploded, launching their payload of semen and sperm like rockets. He pulled away from her, and his still-ejaculating prick sent streamers of semen over her back and into her buttocks and the backs of her thighs, one volley of the sticky, white seed after another. The fecundating fluid blasted her ass cheeks, jetted into the cleavage between her splattered buttocks, and spurted onto her perineum and the backside of her scrotum. A banner of his viscid, white seed even launched itself along her belly, colliding against the underside of one of the mounds of her breasts. It seemed he'd never exhaust his supply of sperm, but, at last, a final volley fired, his balls were empty, drained, and his penis began to wilt and shrivel, becoming small and soft. He reached around Siren's right hip and clutched her cock and balls in the palm of his hand. She was sticky there, and wet, like him, so, he knew, she'd also achieved an orgasm that had ended in ejaculation. He hoped she'd reached her own climax at the same time that he'd shot his cum all over her back, ass, perineum, balls, belly, and breasts. After a shower, Charlie wrote her the note he'd promised her, excusing her absence from the audition, and, dressed in the tear-way dress he'd supplied her, she went, note in hand, to enact the scene which, she hoped, would open the door to a successful and glamorous Hollywood career, her transgender status notwithstanding. She'd heard, from friends of friends of entertainment insiders, that, after lesbianism was no longer chic among the glitterati, the beautiful people seemed poised to celebrate, endorse, and promote transsexuals. "Shemales are the new lesbians," one of them had told her, "which means that girls with bodies like yours are in." This same person had encouraged her to try out for the part for which she was auditioning. If she landed the role, she'd be playing a transsexual whose "secret" gets out, leaving her boyfriend with the dilemma of whether to ignore her cock and balls in favor of her beautiful face, pert breasts, sleek, shapely legs, and womanly buttocks. Mr. Kurtz, Charlie, and the studio they represented were betting that the time for such bold fare had come. If they were right, Siren thought, a star might be about to be born, and that star, she hoped, might be she. Charlie escorted her to the elevator. The car was available to them, since it had remained incapable of responding to summons from lower floors after he'd disabled it with his override key. Now, as the doors closed behind him and Siren, he smiled as he considered the key's other function. It not only prevented the car from responding to other calls, but it also activated a mechanism inside the doors, casing them to close much more rapidly than they would otherwise. This was how he'd caught Siren's tear-away gown in the doors as she'd stepped out of the car. As the studio's president, Charlie had made sure he was on hand, inside the elevator, to activate the mechanism whenever someone like Siren was getting off. Then, he'd become the damsel in distress' rescuing hero, her chivalrous knight in shining armor, inviting her upstairs, to his penthouse office suite, where, it just so happened, thanks to Kurtz, that he had a replacement tear-away gown on hand. Women--and shemales, in particular, it seemed to him--were generous creatures, and most insisted on repaying his kindness the same way that Siren had done. It was a good con, one which made the responsibilities of being the studio's president worthwhile. The descending lift came to its characteristic abrupt, jolting stop, and Siren gave him a last kiss. "Thanks," she said, smiling, "for everything." "It was my pleasure," he assured her. This time, the elevator hadn't stopped at the third sub-basement level, and he did not secretly activate the mechanism inside the elevator's doors as Siren exited the car. Instead, he watched the sexy shemale sash shay down the first-floor corridor that led to the lobby. Exiting the building, she'd have a block's walk to the soundstage. She'd present his note to the angry director, and Kurtz, seeing the message he'd scrawled on the page, would act mollified, allowing the actress to audition late. Of course, she would not get the part, no matter how well she might enact the scene. They never did. That was part of the con. Every girl got an audition, after a little hanky panky, but none ever got a part in a film. Contrary to some people's observations, lesbians were not out of fashion. They were still chic. They were still in. Shemales, on the other hand, although exotic and, in Charlie Fenton's opinion, at least, sexy as hell, would never be fashionable in Tinsel Town. Lesbians were women, after all; transsexuals were not. They were chicks with dicks. Consequently, in homophobic Hollywood, they'd never make the cut. Except as bit actresses in an occasional film like Tootsie or Transamerica, they'd never be celluloid stars. He smiled. That didn't mean they couldn't be a great lay now and then, and, for a jaded man, like him, their exotic qualities were refreshing, even after he'd bedded more than a few. Charlie punched the button labeled "94," and the creaking car began its long, slow, but certain, ascent to the top. Fishing in his vest pocket, he extracted his cell 'phone and called Kurtz. When the director answered, he said, "Send me up another tear-away dress, for Wednesday." That was the day of the next audition. "Make sure the one you give the actress to wear needs some 'alterations.'" "Will do, Mr. Fenton," the director replied. "The audition's scheduled for noon. I'll ask her to bring me something back from Del's Deli for lunch, just like today, so she'll be in a hurry." The studio president fingered the override key inside his trousers' pocket, the one that not only prevented the car from answering would-be passengers' summons but also sped up the closing of the doors, so they'd catch the gown of the departing starlet as she hastened out of the car on her way to the costume shop for the alterations she supposedly needed to her gown before she auditioned. "I'll be in the elevator," Charlie declared, "waiting."