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A Scandal In Beverly HillsChapter 5 free porn video
"Two people are here to see you, sir."
William F. Link was sprawled on his office couch, watching a videotape of the speech he had delivered earlier that day to the California Orange Growers Association. He looked at his watch in annoyance.
"It's after eleven o'clock. Who is it?"
"One of them says she's your daughter, sir." The aide kept his voice carefully neutral.
Link sat up and stopped the tape, cutting himself off in the middle of a well-received tirade against the evil tactics of the Florida Orange Growers Association.
"All right. Show them up, and then make sure no one else comes upstairs."
"Yes, sir."
When Stern and Amanda came in, Link was sitting behind his desk. The aide seated them on the leather couch and left, shutting the door behind him. There were no smiles or hugs.
Amanda spoke first. "Daddy, I know that Martin is blackmailing you. I found a video camera hidden in his closet. I want you to know that I don't have anything to do with it. I'm getting a divorce."
He gave her a long, considering look, and then he motioned at Stern. "Who's this?"
"This is Frank Stern. He's a private detective. He helped me figure out what was going on."
"So why are you here?"
"Are you going to pay the money?"
Link fiddled with a paperweight for a few seconds, and then said "I haven't decided yet. The way I see it, I'm likely to be screwed either way. I'm leaning against it at the moment."
"But if you don't pay, won't your campaign be ruined?"
"Despite the disgusting, sleazy, and sinful nature of the videotapes," he said, giving his daughter a cold stare, "my people tell me I may be able to squeak by, especially if I can delay Westphal for a while longer. On the other hand, if it ever comes out that I paid two million dollars, I'm finished for good."
Stern cleared his throat and spoke for the first time. "In that case, we have a proposal for you."
"I'm listening."
"The way we see it, you have two problems if you pay. First, you have no assurance that something damaging won't come out about your daughter anyway, and second, you then have to worry about the fact that you used campaign contributions illegally."
"That's a fair assessment, yes."
"Daddy, I'm not a lesbian. And that stupid thing with the maid is over. I won't embarrass you any further. In fact, if any rumours do come out, I'll deny everything."
Link didn't say anything, but Stern saw relief in his eyes. He wondered if it was for his political career or for his daughter.
"And as for the other problem," said Stern, "you won't get in any trouble if you get the money right back, correct?"
"Don't you think I've thought of that? There's no point in stealing the money back from him, he'll know I did it, even if I make it look like a random robbery."
"Not if I steal it," said Amanda.
Link was quiet for a few seconds, and Stern knew he was going to go for it.
Martin Westphal was sifting morosely through a pile of financial statements and legal correspondence when a nurse leaned her head into his office and said "Doctor Westphal, there is a man here for a consultation who insists on seeing you personally."
Normally the plastic surgeons didn't talk to prospective patients until they had been pre-screened by the staff, but Westphal hadn't had a single new patient since his medical rating had been downgraded two weeks ago, and he was perfectly happy to make an exception.
He made a show of frowning and flipping through his day planner. "Well, I suppose I could see him now. Show him into room three."
After keeping the man waiting for the requisite ten minutes, he put on his lab coat and went into the examining room.
"I'm Doctor Martin Westphal," he said with a wide smile. A bulky middle-aged man in a dark suit was sitting on the padded table. His nose had obviously been flattened and broken numerous times over the years.
"Close the door," said the man brusquely. "This is private."
Westphal's smile faded, but he closed the door. "Let me see what we have here," he said, approaching the man. "Hmmm. Significant cartilage buildup and reshaping due to previous trauma ... about a twenty-degree deviation from the main axis ... Yes, I'm not surprised you're looking to have some work done, Mr..."
"Go fuck yourself." The man got up from the table and stood between Westphal and the door.
"I'm not some rich faggot trying to look like an English lord. I got a message for you from Mr Link."
The man unbuckled his belt and undid his slacks. Westphal noticed an unnaturally large bulge in his boxer shorts, and he swallowed and opened his mouth to say something, but then thought better of it. The man reached into his shorts, grimaced, and then with a tearing sound he pulled out a leather sack about the size of a softball. Westphal's eyes widened and he started breathing again.
The man closed up his pants and said "Here's the message: anybody from the press finds out that Amanda Westphal and her wetback maid are cleaning out each others muffs, and you're gonna have an unfortunate accident involving a lotta broken kneecaps and elbows. Got it?"
"Got it."
The man tossed the sack at the plastic surgeon with a sudden flick of his wrist, hitting him just under his ribcage and knocking the breath out of him. Westphal made a spastic grab for the sack and managed to corral it before it hit the ground. When he looked up, the man was gone. Rubbing his stomach, he locked the door and then undid the knot at the top of the sack.
"My God ... I don't believe it." He poked his finger into the diamonds and stirred them around, enjoying their cool, slippery smoothness and the dazzling flashes of light.
"I don't believe it," he repeated. "I did it."
Stern punched the code into the keypad and walked through the gate as it clanked open, and Amanda Westphal opened the big front door as he came up the front steps. The cool, dry air in the foyer made a welcome contrast to the sticky afternoon heat outside.
She was wearing high heels, tight shorts, and a bra top, and he gave her an appreciative look up and down. "You look like a hooker," he said, setting a big duffel bag on the tiled floor.
"Nice to see you too, Detective."
"Everything look OK here?"
"Yep. He's all packed and ready to go."
"What about Maria?"
"When Martin sent me off to the spa I gave her a couple days off. She sounded kind of disappointed. Now that I think about it, she doesn't exactly work like a dog around here."
"From what I've seen, you've got a bit of a discipline problem with your servants."
She gave him a broad wink. "Depends on how you like to be served. You want a tour of Casa Westphal?"
"Sure."
They started upstairs. Martin Westphal was obviously planning to take a long trip: there were two huge suitcases in the master bedroom, filled with clothes, toiletries, and valuables.
"What time do you think he will be home?" she asked.
Stern looked at his watch. "He's getting the loot at five, so he should be here soon after that. We have plenty of time to set up." He looked in the closet across from the bed and spotted the shoebox with the hole in it on an upper shelf; it was pretty easy to see if you were looking for it. He took it down and took out the camera.
"Nice equipment. Two grand for a low-light digital model like this."
"Why don't you keep it. Every time I see it, I think about how humiliating it was to be videotaped doing all that stuff with Maria."
Stern noticed a slight emphasis on the word 'humiliated', and he smiled to himself. He aimed the camera at her and started filming, zooming in on her smooth, tan cleavage. An internal display told him there was seventy-two minutes of tape available. "You shouldn't feel humiliated — you photograph very well."
"Oh, but the things I did ... recorded for anyone to see..." She sounded a little breathless.
Stern felt his cock twitch and start firming up. "So what's next on the tour?"
"Hmmm ... lets skip ahead to the playroom in the basement."
"I didn't know you had children."
She laughed and sauntered down the stairs in front of him, swinging her shapely ass back and forth, and he held the little camera to his face and watched her through the viewfinder as he followed her.
The front of the basement was a dark, wood-paneled room with a pool table and a wet bar; it looked like a place for gentlemen to retire after dinner for brandy and a cigar. She opened an unobtrusive door on the other side and led him into a larger carpeted room with bright overhead lights.
"Wow," he said, slowly panning the camera around. The walls were hung with strange leather costumes and equipment whose purpose he could only guess at, and the tall cabinets promised much more. There was a large steel cage in the corner, and a little curtained area near the door, presumably for changing.
He zoomed in on her face, and saw that she was flushed and breathing heavily. He had an erection like steel bar, himself — he could see his pants bulging outwards in the large mirror behind her. "Nice room. Should be a real selling point if you ever put the house on the market. Could you explain what some of this stuff is?"
"You mean while you film me?" The concern in her voice wouldn't have fooled a five year old.
"That's right," he said firmly. "And be sure you explain exactly what turns you on about each one."
"Oh no ... well, if you insist." She moved along the row of costumes, taking each one down and pointing out its particular features and the scenarios it was used for. Animal costumes were a big theme, with dogs and barnyard animals well represented, including the infamous cow. There were also men's uniforms, with special accommodations for her figure, and a few costumes that were too bizarre to describe. She finally got to the one Stern had his eye on.
"This is my Catwoman outfit." She took down a sleek, black leather suit with a matching hood and boots. "It was custom made to fit me."
"That's a great outfit, Amanda" said Stern, talking like he was conducting an interview. "Looks very tight. I seem to notice that it has some cutouts."
"Yes, it's crotchless, and shows my nipples, which is very embarrassing."
Stern took the hint. "Not to mention slutty and perverted. But I think our viewers would really like to see it on you. Would you mind?"
"I guess I could just put it on for a minute, so you can get the idea." She disappeared into the changing area, and came out a few minutes later wearing the costume, covering her breasts and her crotch with her hands.
"Meow," said Stern, lifting the camera. "Come on, hands in the air. Don't be shy."
She put her hands out to her sides and twirled around, moving nicely in the spike-heeled boots. The leather clung to her like a second skin, pushing her breasts out into proud cones tipped with the soft pink of her exposed nipples. This was nicely echoed by the moist crescent of pink between her legs and by her mouth; everything else was a shiny, menacing jet-black.
"Very nice ... Beautiful ... This is going to look great in my documentary." He was so horny now, he hardly knew what he was saying.
"Glad you like it, Mr Stern." Her voice was throaty and seductive, as if she was playing a part.
"Come over here."
She walked over next to him, and he reached out and fondled one taught, leather breast, prodding at the nipple with his thumb. Still filming, he slid his hand down the cool, smooth leather until he felt the sudden warmth of her bare pussy. He cupped it in his hand, and slipped a finger into her. She gasped, but didn't say anything.
"You're obviously very turned on, Amanda. Describe for us how this costume makes you feel."
"Like a whole different person. Or creature. Very exposed, of course. And very sexy." There was that funny voice again. He realized it was what a cat might sound like.
He undid his fly and worked his cock out. "I think our viewers would like you to demonstrate just how sexy you feel."
She dropped gracefully to her knees and started licking at his shaft with little darting flicks of her tongue. He aimed the camera straight down and focused on her mouth as it moved restlessly around his cock and balls, finding it incredibly erotic to watch what was happening through the viewfinder.
After a while the dainty licking and tongue-prodding started to tickle, and he impatiently tried to push his cock past her lips into the warm confines of her mouth. But she wouldn't accept it, turning her head to the side and letting his stiff member bounce off to one side or the other.
"Come on now," he urged. "Suck it."
"Meeeiiiiow!" She continued to lick him, writhing her body sensuously.
"Jesus, you're really in character, aren't you?"
She made a vibrating, purring sound deep in her throat, and pushed her ass up into the air, giving him an enticing come-hither look.
"I see, you must be in heat," he said, getting into the spirit of it. The whole scenario was taking on a bizarrely realistic aura, and he was suddenly anxious to take her from behind, like a horny tomcat servicing one of his harem.
He set the camera down on a folding chair and quickly took off his clothes, while she pranced and wiggled around the room on all fours, doing a pretty decent imitation of a horny feline. The hood had a mask which covered the upper part of her face, and he was unable to make real eye contact with her or read her expression, which heightened the illusion.
He dropped to his knees and crawled towards her, but she moved away with a disdainful toss of her head, giving him a little flash of pink from between her legs. Remembering that female cats were notorious for playing hard-to-get, he followed her around the room, his erection bobbing painfully between his legs, and eventually managed to corner her. She hissed and went into a slinky position, low to the ground, and he lunged up on top of her and grabbed her shoulders.
She twisted and struggled, making angry screeching sounds, and easily kept him from entering her by moving her hips whenever she felt his cock poking at her. After a few aggravating minutes he leaned forward and bit the back of her neck through the skin-tight leather, hard enough to hurt. She immediately stiffened and made little sounds of acquiescence. What the hell had inspired him to do that?
Keeping his teeth on her neck, he reached back and guided himself into her hot channel. As soon as he took his mouth off her neck she started twisting and screeching again, but now he was able to hold her shoulders and easily keep himself inside her. After a while she seemed to realize that he was in control, and she lay almost flat on her stomach and tilted her hips up to let him thrust at her.
He moved forward over her, supporting himself on his elbows and knees, and made animal noises in her ear as he humped her. She turned her head and bared her teeth, a look of pure lust on her face, and he started fucking her even harder with long strokes that ended with an emphatic slap against her tight, leather-clad ass. She drove herself back against him, and they quickly synchronized their movements so that they were moving in counterpoint. The pace slowly but surely increased, until Stern found himself slamming himself wildly into her as fast as he could, amazed that her ass was moving up to meet him each time. He felt the stirring in his balls, and then the semen quickly moved down along his cock, burning like lava, and spilled into her in a long, intensely pleasurable climax.
He rolled off her onto the carpet, gasping for breath, and then he felt her tongue again, licking his cock as it shrank, probing around his balls, cleaning up their combined juices.
"That has to be the strangest sex I've ever had," he said when she was done, wondering if she was still in character.
"You really got into the spirit of it — biting my neck was a nice touch." She sat up and peeled off the hood, shook her head to untangle her blonde hair, and gave him an appreciative smile.
Stern noticed that she had maneuvered them so that they had been performing for the camera.
"And all recorded for posterity."
He stood up and wandered aimlessly around the room, examining the strange contents more closely. In one cabinet there was a shelf devoted to dog supplies: collar, leash, food, water bowls, and the like. The collar had dog tags that read "Fluffy". There were even doggie treats, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be designed for human consumption. He sniffed one — it smelled like a regular dog biscuit.
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- 20.01.2023
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