Risen Star Back to the Fuchsia
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Rising Star - Back To The Fuchsia 3 free porn video
My time at the Flotsam Theatre was coming to an end. The play Millicent Graham had written and which was based on Faust had been a huge success and it was likely to go to London. There were also rumours that an American company wanted to put it on in New York.
Nadine, or Nads as I now called her, and I were definitely an item. The L-word had reared its beautiful head and I was about as happy as I could be. She’d moved into my house, and had brought Wilberforce, her Labrador, along with her. Her brother, Mike the vet, was living in her old cottage.
The McAlisters had taken to Nads in a big way. We had come up to town the night before and stayed in my London flat which Nads referred to as 'the eyrie.' I was getting dressed to go and see Flick in her office. Thus far, I’d got my stockings and knickers on and a blouse.
She was sitting in our bed, her beautiful breasts unashamedly bare and her hair was tousled because we’d just done what we often did on awakening. It had been a gentle, loving affair with a lot of kissing and holding and, eventually, a meeting of cunts that had left us breathless. I’d showered and started to dress
“Has she got work for you?”
“That’s why she usually summons me to her presence. Christ, you’d think she was my employer, rather than the other way around.”
“She and Mike are getting very close.”
“I hope he’s tough, she’s a fucking force of nature.”
I kissed her goodbye and went down to the lobby where my driver, Alison, was waiting for me. Alison was a former army officer and was my security while in London. She delivered me safely to the tower block that housed the Caterham Agency.
“Hi, Portia.”
Flick’s front of house (as she referred to Portia) was tall with great tits and long, shapely legs and she made sure those assets were permanently in the public eye.
“Champagne, Faye?”
“Does the Pope speak Latin?” That girl learns fast.
Flick looked, as ever, elegant and immaculate. “How’s Nads?”
“She’s fine thanks, how’s Mike?”
“Mind your own business. Now, we have a few things to discuss.”
“I’m fine, thanks.”
Champagne arrived and despite a disapproving look, Flick took a glass. “First, I have a Disney voice over – a remake of Snow White, you could be the evil queen.”
“More you than me, I’d have said.”
She sniffed. “Then we have a new Scandi noir. The part on offer is a neurosurgeon who is struggling with alcoholism.”
“Cheery.”
“Finally, Dolly Stern has specifically asked for you to play the wife of a man who is in charge of the transportation of criminals to Australia.” (For a bit of background on Dolly, see Rising Star – Stern Warning, if you can be arsed.)
“They still do that?”
“It’s set, you moron, in the nineteenth century and location work will be in Australia. She’s sent the screenplay and a draft shooting schedule. It’s big-budget and the producers are the Goldman Brothers.” They were hugely successful and very powerful. “I want you to do the Stern film. It’ll mean a fair bit of time away from your gardener, but you have your career to think about.”
A belt of dismay circled my chest. I hadn’t thought about time away from Nadine. We’d been seeing each other since before the first Flotsam play, Being Apart and so it was nearly three months. Commuting to the theatre from home every day meant we had spent a lot of time together. And, as I have said, the L-word was in the air.
“I’ll talk to her about it.”
“What’s there to talk about? It’s Dolly Stern, a great script and the Goldmans. Turn this down and she’ll never give you another chance and nor will the Goldmans.”
“I’ll talk to her about it.”
“Look, it’s never easy and I get that. But, you were quite well-known before she met you and she’s far from stupid. She knew this might happen and she’ll live with it. And, if you two are right for each other, you’ll survive. If you’re not, then you’ll find out.”
“Since when did you do Agony Aunt?”
“Since I met her brother. Now, fuck off and talk to her then call me and say you’ll do it.”
~
“You shouldn’t have told her you’d talk to me.” Nadine was resting her chin on my trimmed mound following a delightful attack on my nethers with her tongue and fingers that had culminated in a rather spectacular bellow of joy from yours truly. “She’ll think I’d try to limit you.”
“I was just being honest and, anyway, I wanted to talk to you.”
“Fine, just tell her you’ll think about it next time. Of course, you have to do it. And, if I can, I might come out and spend some time out in Oz with you and fight off all the women who are lining up to do this.” Finger slides purposefully into cunt. Tongue makes another assault on clitoris. Second finger enters left and slides into bum. Best stage directions ever written. Conversation delayed for a few minutes as star of show gives in, eventually, to a second, minor orgasm that wets lover’s face. This drama keeps getting better.
We went to a restaurant called Chez Louis, in Mayfair. I’d promised her a ridiculously extravagant meal. She wore another jumpsuit, which was definitely her style and she looked scrumptious. It was pale grey to the waist and black from the waist down. Her hair was loose, and, as we entered with me on her arm, heads turned and they weren’t looking at me.
Fabulous meal over, we returned to the flat and fucked each other sore. Who’s a lucky girl?
~
“I’ll do it.”
“Nadine’s okay with it?”
“She said pretty much what you said.”
“Sensible girl. I’ll call Dolly.
~
There were the usual delays. Given the opportunity, I stayed at the country house and walked Wilberforce, sometimes with Nads, sometimes alone, if Nads and her business partner, Shirley, had work which, increasingly, they did. Their business was doing well and they’d taken on two more assistants which kept them busy. Winter was turning to Spring and the trees had that fresh green look. I felt fit and well.
Flick phoned me. “While we’re waiting for the Australia gig, I’ve been asked if you’ll do a radio play.” Typically, there were no niceties, like, ‘how are you?’ “It’s a play by Ken Thompson,” (great playwright) “and you get to be a prison governor. It’ll take a week in all. You have to go to Edinburgh to do it. I got Amanda Chicklade a part, too.”
“She’ll go far, that girl.” We’d worked together at the Flotsam.
“So might you be if you make a bit more effort.”
“When?”
“Two weeks time. Portia’s sorted flights and hotel.”
“How did you know I’d agree?”
“Because, darling, you’re not a complete tit.” Praise indeed.
Nads came to Edinburgh with me. It’s a beautiful city and, when I wasn’t working, we explored it together. They produce so many brands of whisky! We had to try quite a few of course. The hotel barman decided we were a pair of lushes, in fact, three when Amanda joined us. It was like a slightly interrupted holiday. It ended on a sad note. Flick called me with the start date in Australia.
Australia
There is absolutely no problem with space in Australia. Our set was built on some elderly harbour and the extras were bussed in as needed while we, the main players, lived in huge beachfront bungalows. Mine had three bedrooms and I was the only occupant.
It was a week into the shooting, and I was coming off the set. I was wearing a long frock of the era with all the period underpinnings. Stern insisted. Now, Dolly is as gay as a Morris Dancer’s wedding but never, ever fucks anyone she’s working with. That said, I reckon the clothing rule was a bit of a fetish. Right or wrong, I do know it was fucking hot; and I mean temperature-wise.
I should perhaps mention here that Dolly had a couple of women she referred to as ‘support staff.’ I think you know exactly what that meant, no?
So, anyway, there I was coming off set and holding my dress up out of the dust when a familiar voice shouted, “Millerton!”
Marilyn, Maz, Foster. We went back a long way.
“What the fuck are you doing here?”
“It’s good to see you too.” She smiled. “Dolly got me a bit part. She calls it a cameo.”
“You’re the Princess?” A small but critical part was the Princess who visits the camp and gets to fuck my husband which leads to the collapse of our marriage. I knew they’d been searching for someone to do it and I had a sneaking feeling that Dolly had been eyeing Maz for the part from the outset.
“I am indeed, so lock up your old man.”
“You can bloody have him.”
We hugged and she kissed me, hard. Maz only had two kisses. That one and the harder one. I had thought she was still working in Canada in some soap but, she explained, she’d been given a break because Dolly asked and when she asks, she gets.
Now, Maz and I go back a long way as I have said. She was gay, butch, promiscuous, very talented and fucking gorgeous to look at. She had fucked me more times than I care to recall. We made our way to my bungalow and, since I had no further work that day, I poured us a drink, her favourite gin and tonic. She usually called it gin and gin and tonic. She liked it strong.
“Aren’t you going to get out of that frock? It’s like having a gin with Queen Victoria.”
“Maz, I have to tell you something.”
She smiled. “That you’re all loved up with a beautiful butch gardener and you’re now doing your faithful thing? I know all about her. Flick told me.”
Flick is, for all our verbal jousting, incredibly good. She must have known Maz was coming and got hold of her to tell her to keep her hands off.
“Okay, good.”
“I’m still going to fuck you, but it’ll be our secret.” She laughed but I knew her only too well and suspected she meant it.
“How long are you here?” I asked her.
“Two weeks. They’ve fixed me up with a camper van near the beach.”
Mistake number one. I said to hell with a camper, she could stay in my bungalow. “It’s got three bedrooms.” Maz lifted an eyebrow. “I said, it has three bedrooms. I mean it Maz.”
“Brilliant, thanks. If I get lucky can I bring her back with me?”
“If? Since when did you not get lucky?”
Over the next week, Dolly Stern concentrated mostly on Maz’s scenes because she only had a limited time with us on location. There’d be more studio work but location time costs far more so it was important to get it done. I had one scene with her.
Let me tell you the story. The Princess (Maz) has just had a torrid sex scene with my ‘husband.’ He, the part not the actor, is rather handsome but an ineffective drunk. These were the days when Royalty had almost unlimited power; not quite Henry VIII but still; so a woman whose husband has fucked one of the clan isn’t likely to make a fuss, rather she would hold her tongue and carry on. But I, Mrs Phylida Jerome, am made of stern stuff.
Script as follows. Remember my memory, it’s verbatim I assure you.
A drawing-room in the Jerome household. Tea is laid on an occasional table. Mrs J stands as a servant announces the Princess.
Your Royal Highness, welcome. (curtsey.)
Thank you, Mrs Jerome. (Sits.)
Please, call me Phyllida. After all, intimacy is, it seems, the order of the day.
(Princess raises an eyebrow.) Do you challenge me, Mrs Jerome?
(Mrs J pours tea.) I would not presume, Ma’am. But it seems that you do presume.
Slight variation from script follows.
Princess. I know I am a dyke, but I really can’t imagine any right-minded woman fucking a complete tosser like your old man.
Mrs J. Fair comment, he is an arsehole, isn’t he?
Uproar on set.
Fortunately, Dolly was away and it was her sidekick directing so there was no explosion from Dolly. We managed to get the entire scene done after the seventh take. Day over, back to the bungalow. It was Maz’s last night in Australia and I was proud of myself for not having given in to my desire for her.
Mistake number two. It was a typically beautiful early evening. Maz and I got back to the bungalow and had a couple of gins on the large terrace beside the pool. I’d put on a sundress, Maz was naked apart from a sarong tied around her waist. It was blue and completely sheer and she sat with her legs slightly apart. Two more gins.
Mistake number three. I hadn’t eaten. The drink, the setting sun’s warmth, the hypnotic lapping of the sea on the beach and the sight of Maz’s triangle of black hair were all intoxicating. She bloody knew. She parted the sarong and did a ‘come here’ gesture with her finger and, well, I did.
She was irresistible. I kissed her mouth and her tongue slithered into mine. Her hands ran up my legs and the kiss lingered. I felt her fingers around my nipple through the silk of my dress as the other hand rose higher, higher but not quite there. She broke the kiss.
Maz whispered, “It’s fine, Faye. Don’t worry, it’s just sex.” She stood and the sarong fell to the floor and so, naked, she led me inside to my bedroom and my fall was complete. My dress came off. We held each other. Her hands explored me as mine explored her. It was, I imagine, like a braille reader with a familiar book. I knew her body, she knew mine. It’s like riding a bike, you never forget.
Standing behind me, Maz cupped one of my breasts, her mouth close to my ear. “It’s been a long time.” Her free hand lifted my hair. She pushed her pelvis against my arse and her tongue ran around the base of my neck from one ear to the other. With a nipple held tight between her fingers through the flimsy fabric, she licked an ear, the skin behind it. “I am so going to fuck you.”
I let my head fall back onto her shoulder and she began to run her hands increasingly firmly over me. She lifted my dress and her hand went to my thigh, a few inches below my arse. Nails raking gently, she bit my neck softly and then squeezed my nipple harder, hard enough to elicit a little gasp. “Arms up.” As if I were hypnotised, I raised my arms and she stepped back a little and swiftly lifted the dress off me and turned me round to face her. “Sit down.”
I sat and she pushed my thighs apart with hers and sat on my left leg. She was very tall, as you know, so when she put her arms around my shoulders, she pulled my face to her throat. As I kissed it, so she began to rock her cunt along my thigh. My leg became slick as her wetness lubricated our flesh. One hand came behind my head and gripped my hair. She pulled, making me arch my neck.
She kissed my mouth, her tongue pushing into me. Her thigh was pressing against my cunt too and I couldn’t help squirming. Revolving her hips, sliding them back and forth, her breasts heavy against me, her tongue fucking my mouth she held me by my hair.
Maz guided me to lie on my front and she pushed my legs apart as she lifted my arse and tongued my arsehole. Her finger slid into my cunt, palm down and she bent her finger on my G. “I’ve missed this.” ‘This’ was, apparently, my arse because her tongue pushed against it as a second finger slipped into my cunt. Lost now, irretrievably lost, I lifted my hips, abandoned, wanton.
Then I found myself on my back, her knees beside my head, her cunt on my face, mine beneath her mouth. The dam opened, as she knew it would, when she pushed a wet, slippery finger into my arse as her tongue and lips worked exquisitely on my clitoris.
We were lying like spoons, her lips on my neck, her hand on my tit. “Do you love her?”
“Don’t.”
“Tell me.”
“Yes, dammit, I do.”
“Well, you haven’t fucked it up. I’m not going to tell her and nor is anyone else. Wasn’t it beautiful?” I nodded. “Don’t ever feel remorse. I haven’t taken you from her, I’ve just borrowed your body for a night.” I wondered how often she’d given this advice. “While I am borrowing it, I’m going to make full use of it.” She did.
So, now you see me as I am: weak, unfaithful, wanton. She left the following morning and I sat, no work to do, looking over the sea with a cup of coffee and, I admit, some brandy in it, and pondered. Later I called Nadine and told her I loved her, missed her, and it was all true.
Ten thousand miles, that’s how far apart we were. “I love you too, Faye. And that won’t change, no matter what.”
‘No matter what?’ Was there something in my voice, or did the airwaves carry my shame in my voice.
~
Should I have told her? I never did and she never, ever asked me if I’d been faithful to her. Nor, of course, did I ask her. When I got back to England, I had a week before studio work started. We walked with Wilberforce, we slept and fucked and ate and, slowly, my mind did what most unfaithful minds do; filed the memory away in a dark archive and life went on.
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