6 comments/ 49207 views/ 3 favorites Love Grab at the Naked Turtle By: Softly Roger Kovack had spent the last four years getting his degree, as well as working for the Donzi Marine racing team. Some said that he had a genius touch with the Mercruiser engines. Since he had no steady girlfriend, he decided to go to Vermont to spend a lazy summer with his uncle, Russell Clark, who had a home on Lake Champlain, located in Barnes's Bay of South Hero. Russ, his mother's brother, had invited him to spend the summers in Vermont, instead of cooking in the Florida heat, each summer of his high school years. During those stays, when Russ was not driving his Coke route, they were on the water fishing. A lot had changed in the last four years. Russ had divorced and remarried. All Roger knew about the new wife was that her name was Amanda. Driving northbound on interstate 95, Roger occupied his mind thinking of his favorite subject, which of course is women. This last semester had been a remarkable experience for him. He had an affair with Linda Salisbury, who was a teacher taking courses to attain her required masters degree. Linda, damn, he could see her in his mind. Dressed and acted like a teacher. No tits, thin body, age thirty-four, and fucks like a rabbit. What really made her exciting was her mind. He knew that it would be years before he fully understood all that she tried to teach him about life, if ever. He remembered their conversation after one of professor Walters' history classes. Old professor Walters had challenged the class with the question, "Who here is proud of his Scottish or Irish heritage?" Several raised their hand. Walters then said, "Do you know that you are probably all related to not only to each other, but to the English, Spaniards, Italians?" The simple explanation was that the English Isles were often invaded. The victors would kill or run off the men and impregnate the women. Since the spreading of genes was the topic, it was mentioned that when Germany surrendered at the end of world war two, the Russian solders raped every female they could find in their sector, often repeatable for years. Walters tossed a bombshell at us. "Consider this. In some cases, a people, a complete country might have been made better by the use of systematic rape." Every eye was on professor Walters. "For over a hundred years before the potato famine in Ireland, the English Crown was concerned with the rebelliousness of the Irish people. What the Crown did was appoint noblemen from Wales to be the local Governors of the farming districts. Any girl who wanted to be married in the district had to submit herself to the Governor for whatever time that he decreed, so that he would sire her child. Easy to beat that system, you may think? There were high stakes. When the woman submitted herself, she was examiner by the Crown's doctor to determine if she was a virgin. A used woman would be whipped and hung. Terrible, you say. Yes, but consider this. The Welsh noblemen were some of the brightest men of their time. Each of you are to write a five thousand word paper concerning the impact of this practice on the people of Ireland, and on the individual woman." That night, after a great fuck with Linda, Roger asked her opinion of what professor Walters had said. He remembers what she said, verbatim. "Roger, you probably would be very surprised by what the women of Ireland really thought of the English requirement of sex with the Governor. Follow me here. When the girl comes of age, she knows that her first sex will be with the governor. She, a common subject, lives in a stone dwelling, often with a dirt floor. The men of her family all are dirt poor, with poor hygiene, and ragged clothes. But, the Governor is a man of great wealth, with silk clothes, grand carriage, and who lives in the castle. The women who had been to the castle to be serviced by the Governor would tell her of the hot water baths, the feasts of plenty, the fine beds, and the Governor doing it to them. By the time a girl gets to the Governor's bed, I would bet that she could not wait for him to mount her." "Really?" "Oh, I would think that there is more to the story. What do you think a bored Governor, and his henchman, did to entertain themselves on a cold winter night? You got it. Round up some of the local ladies for an orgy at the castle. More feast, warm bath, and comfortable beds, with all the hot sex a gal could want. Sure, they would tell their husbands that they fought as best they could, and only one man had his way with her, when in fact she had paraded around naked, from man to man, taking cock after cock." Linda looked Roger in the eye. "Roger, you guys seem to think that any time a gal has sex that a man seduced her, or forced her. Wrong, wrong, wrong. Look at us. I came on to you. Hunted you, if you will. When classes end, I will go back to my little life as Linda Salisbury, faithful wife, until next time." "Next time?" "Oh, sure. I will take a class for the next four semesters. I'll pick out a guy in each class to get to know, like I did you, just for the merry old hell of it." "What do you tell your husband?" "I'm working straight out, glued to a desk at the library." "Are all women like that?" "Roger, there are two kinds of women. First is the woman who thinks that she got the very best man that was available to her. Not necessarily her first choice, but the best that she could snare. She will be very timid, very protective of her hold on her husband. The other kind of gal may or may not have got her first choice of men, but knows that she is good goods, a hot ticket, that has men making moves on her all the time. She, if inclined, can become the Maneater, that is written about, and has songs written about her. That woman knows exactly what she can attain by using her sexuality, flashing her tits, letting men think that they have stolen her pussy. It is she who you see on the red carpet in Hollywood, or riding with The Donald in a limo. You guys only get what that woman wants to give you." "Are women that calculating?" "Absolutely." "I'm just a clueless simpleton." "Want some advice, Roger?" "Sure." "Find yourself a woman who is a bright, aggressive, good-looking, bitch, a first class Maneater. Tie you string to her show and hang on. All women are bitches. The question is whether they are bitches for you or against you. Marry one and then stand back and enjoy the show." "Are you a Maneater?" "Got you wrapped around my finger, don't I?" Roger wondered if Linda's husband had any idea of how much woman he was married to. He pulled his ten-year-old Suburban into his uncle's yard. No one was home, so he put his boat, a twenty-three foot Grady-White in the water, using the boat launch site. His Grady was a twenty year old, lean, mean, fishing-machine that he had picked up for nine grand. The 150 hp Yamaha sitting on the transom was brand new. It had set him back another ten. Just as he was dropping the trailer, a car drove in and parked. Roger, shirtless, walked over to speak to the woman who got out. "Hi, I'm Roger." "Hi there, I'm Amanda," she said warmly. She was not what Roger expected. Less than forty, black hair, and a trim figure. There was something disturbing about her. Got it now. She is looking too much at my body with a sultry smile. Yaw, sultry is a good description, Roger thought. Amanda continued, "I got Russ a job at Delaney Industries as a long haul trucker. He has a trip every afternoon starting at three PM to White River Junction. Will be back around eleven-thirty PM. Want a sandwich or something?" "Sounds great." Once at the table, Roger asked, "Delaney is that new Canadian company that just moved into Milton?" "Yes. I'm one of the original hires. I work directly for Bradford Delaney, and his son, Clay. Look, I have an appointment, so I have to change and get going. Everything you need is in the mother apartment. Here is the key." "Thanks, it has been a long day. I need to wash up and take a nap." Roger hurried into the separate apartment. Years before, when he had stayed there, he discovered that the bathroom in the apartment was back-to-back to the one in the main house. By removing the back of the old wooden medicine cabinet, he could see through a hole that he had drilled that was in line with the lower screw hole of one of the towel racks in the main bathroom. Russell's first wife had been the first woman that he had seen naked. Amanda got out of the shower just as he took up his position. Roger sucked in his breath. Her face was little more than average. Hair, black and straight. Her legs were slender climbing to a butt that was a tad too big. But, holy cow, those were world-class tits. Not large, mind you, but perfectly formed. Armanda wrapped her hair in a large towel. What she did next got Roger's cock raging hard. She stood looking at herself in the mirror as she placed her hands under each tit, lifting them as her fingers fondled them. Her eyes closed as her head slowly tilted back, like a women imagining that her hands are those of a lover stroking her breasts. She removed the towel. Now using a hair blower, with her arms held high, Roger was treated to the view of her breasts as she leaned forward and back. No doubt, world-class tits. When she momentarily left the bathroom, Roger wondered why she was home at such an early hour. When she reentered the bathroom, he was able to answer his own question. Armanda was wearing a designer half-cup support bra, nylons held up by a garter belt, high heels, and her hair was in a tight bun. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, she stuck out her chest. She slipped on a black skirt as well as a light blue low cut blouse. Once on, she bent forward to be sure that all her breasts were exposed to anyone who cared to look. Satisfied, she applied full war paint. There was no doubt; Amanda was a woman on the make. Roger smiled a wry smile picturing in his mind old Russ bouncing down interstate 89 watching the Green Mountains flash by. I wonder how fucking long this has been going on? He thought. Again, he answered his own question. Since Armanda, who worked for the bosses at Delaney, got her husband a job that takes him out of town every fucking day. Who is she fucking? Ta da! The Bosses, fool. Look at her. Would you fuck her if she weren't Russell's wife? In a heartbeat, my man, a heartbeat. Roger heard the door close when she left. He heard it close again when she got home at just after ten. Eye to the hole, he got a hell-of-a-show when she entered the bathroom to pee. Her bun was a mess, makeup smeared. When she removed her blouse, her bra was missing. Under her skirt, she was sans panties. Red bite and suck marks were on both breasts, as well as around her pussy. Was she hurt, pissed, angry, or out-of-sorts? Not in the least. Naked, she faced the mirror, stuck out her chest and lifted her proud tits with the wildest sexy look Roger had ever seen. Having known Linda, he knew what she was. She was a Maneater all the way. Thinking about all this, Roger was curious to see what kind of guys the Delaneys are. He had run with some very fast company while working for the Donzi people. Johnny Johnson, the number one driver, was an ass man from the word go. No woman was too ugly to be fucked in his book. Some weeks he fucked a different woman every night. The next day he fished with Russ in the morning before his run. He asked if there might be a position at Delaney Industries for a part-time mechanic. There was. He got the job that afternoon. The hours were six AM until nine AM, three days a week. His second day on the job, Clay Delaney approached him. "Say, I saw your resume'. Says that you know something about Donzi boats. That right?" "A little." "I have one. Could I get you to tune it up? The locals around here don't know anything about the big Mercruisers." "Sure, take me to it." They took Clay's Mercedes to the Delaney's camp which Roger was surprised to learn was around the point from Barnes's Bay. He knew the area very well, having fished for bass there. Like most camps in the area, it sat back thirty yards from the edge of a high bluff overlooking the water. The sides had cedar trees up tight for summer shade. A thirty-foot dock protruded into the lake. The Donzi was on an expensive electric lift. Roger recognized it right away as a Donzi Z28, with two 270 hp Mercruiser. Even with the standard set up, the 540 hp would push it along at more than eighty mph. He took a sideways glance at Clay. Nothing he had seen so far led him to believe that Clay was qualified to drive an eighty-miles-per-hour-streak-of-shit like this baby. Let alone the over one-hundred-miles-per-hour fucking flying machine he could make it in twelve hours, and two thousand dollars invested. He decided to not tell Clay what he could do to his engines. Rather, he felt a dislike for Clay. He sensed that Clay was no more than a big spoiled, arrogant, rich kid, that Daddy got his kicks out of providing Clay baby with hot-cars, boats, and women. Another wry smile as he wondered if it was Daddy or Clay who was bonking Armanda. When Clay got the engines running, Roger knew that they were all fucked up just from the surging idle. In an hour they were set right. They took the boat for a test run. Clay knew that something good had happened. "Jesus, Roger, hey Dude, you are great." "Nothing, really." "Tell you what. I'm having a little party here at the camp tonight. Why don't you come? Anytime after seven. How about it?" "Sure, I'll stop by. Should I bring anything?" "A hot woman." "Shit, Man, I just got into town. Don't know a soul." "We will find you one." When Roger returned to Russell's house it was just after three. Russ had left. Armanda did not get home from work until five. To Armanda he said, "Have a good time last night?" "It was work. I was at the office until almost ten." "Going out tonight?" "No. I'm really tired. Going to be in bed by nine-thirty." "Clay has asked me to come over to his camp for a party, so I'll be out for the evening." Armanda gave him a most interesting look. There was a slight smile, puzzlement, and a sexual twitch of her lips. Just for second, she glanced at his crotch. Nine women and twelve guys were at the party. It seemed that no one was coupled up. Roger struck up a conversation with a guy his age, by the name of Hudson Burk, who was a salesman in the marketing department. He was told to call him H B, everyone did. Roger liked H B. He seemed to be a nice, though not too swift guy. As the evening wore on, H B finished off over a third of a bottle of rum. Roger found another reason to like H B. He was a close friend of Clay, and his mouth ran when he was gunned. Roger began to pump him for information. "So H B, who are the women here?" "The Ladies all work for Delaney's in the main office." "Some of them must be married. How come their husbands let them come to a party like this?" "See that phone over there. It is tied into the office phones. Or as we call it, the husband-checking-on-his-wife-phone." "All that, just to stand around shooting the shit." "Oh, wait, Dude, at eight, Clay will turn down the lights. Everybody will retire to the bedrooms. Then, it is every man for himself." "You have got to be shitting me, H B?" H B shut his eyes for a second, as he shook his head from side to side. His face pulled into a frown. "Come here. Let me show you something," he sputtered out with slurred speech as he turned to lead Roger out of the den up the stairs to a small office. He opened the closet, clicked the light switch and pointed to a cork bulletin board, which covered an area four feet by four feet. On the board were the pictures of at least forty women, each with a file card below the picture. The code was self-explanatory. Armanda's picture was there. She had been to fourteen parties. She had fucked H B, Clay, AS, DJ, HS, CR, JD, JS, PJ, EM, SP, DH, WC, MJ, TT, and AC. Under the initials were chevrons, which Roger was sure represented separate events. On the opposing wall hung women's panties, with names written on them. Two feet from Roger's face was a lacy pink pair with Armanda Clark written on them. Roger shook his head in disbelief. Are all of these people out of their fucking minds? He thought. Imagine if there was a fire? Imagine if some local firemen were to come into this room? Worse yet, the local police? They would rename Milton. It would be Divorce City. The Donzi people were light years smarter than these people. Fuck all you want, but don't tell the world about it, and for shit sure don't set up a trophy room. "Didn't I tell you, Dude?" H B gloated. Roger turned to H B. "Really hot stuff," he said. That is true in more ways than you think, Partner, he thought. "Since this is your first party, why don't you look around to see whom you would like to fuck?" "I'll do that. Thanks." They split. Soon, Roger left. Not that he didn't want a piece of ass. He did, but he did not want RK under some gal's picture. A few moments after he entered his apartment, there was a soft knock on his door. It was Armanda. "You're home early?" "Yes, it is an interesting group. Want a Coke?" "Thank you, yes." She sat down. Roger came to the conclusion that she was there to find out just what he knew. Boldly he said, "Have you ever been in the closet in the office upstairs at Clay Delaney's camp?" The color drained from her face. "What do you intend to do?" "Tell me why you go there?" She took several sips from her Coke. "I started on the assemble line making ten dollars an hour. I heard rumors about the girls who were promoted to the main office staff. The pay went to twenty dollars an hour, plus there were special bonus money for extra duty, such as the party that you were at tonight." "What is the difference?" "If Clay or Mr. Delaney has you one-on-one, it is just routine boss/employee relations. But, if you go to the parties, you take on all comers." Roger listened very carefully. So far, Amanda was a downtrodden employee forced to give sex, or so it seemed, until he thought of her arranging for Russell to be out of town each night so that she was available. Russell was the brake. In his old job, she would have to be home each night at five. Now, she could fuck at will. Remembering what Linda had told him, he forced the issue. "I was watching the gals at the party. They all seemed to be having a great time. Looked to me like they just could not wait for some long, hot, sex. If I went back and asked all the guys listed on your card, do you think that they would tell me that you liked their hot cocks in your pussy, Armanda?" Armanda's eyes got hard. Her face got red. She stood. "God damn you, Roger Kovack. You won't let me off the hook, will you, you son-of-a-bitch. You're going to make me say it, aren't you? Yes, yes, I love it. I love it. I love a hot cock sliding down into my cuntal sheath. I live for it. I would go to the parties for nothing." "How about Russell?" "Are you a fool? Russ is a good man, but at his age, he can only get it up on Saturday night. I give him all he wants. He is happy. So am I as long as you don't blabber about this." Roger found all this to be mind-boggling. His cock did its own thinking, so a large tent formed in his pants, an event instantly seen by Amanda. Amanda, the woman, wife, sexual being, Maneater, became very calm. A slow smile crossed her face as she slowly unbuttoned her blouse. She would, they both knew; take care of the Roger Kovack problem. Next came the bra. The world-class tits were now swaying in the light of the two 60 watt lamps. It was the most erotic sight that Roger had ever seen. In the back of his mind the realization emerged that soon, in just a few moments, he, Roger Kovack, would be able to hold, suck, paw those very same tits as long as he wanted to. Love Grab at the Naked Turtle She pulled the pins from her hair, which fell below her neckline. Her dungarees next fell to the floor. Below her belly button was a slight pot. Lower still was the cuntal mons. Oh my God, Roger thought. If she were mine, I would fuck her ten times a day. "Take off your clothes," she cooed. When they got onto the bed, she simple commented, "I don't need any foreplay. I'm ready now." And indeed, she was. Roger, now on her, felt her hand on his cock, guiding it to her slit. She gently moved the end to her hole. The tip of his cock felt the slick wetness. He eased it into her, her cuntal sheath, with its warm grip on his cock. His eyes closed, as he voiced a long, "Oohhooo!" "Do me, Baby," she whispered. Linda had been a slow, let's move, kiss, hold still, let me feel you in me, woman. Armanda was a woman that wanted it coming in hard, fast, with a lot of ass movement. It occurred to Roger that multiple partners were what it would take to satisfy her. That was the bottom line here. It was not the money or her wanting to party. She had to have the multiple men in her for satisfaction. If not the Delaney group, she would find it somewhere else, and probably had done so in the past. Roger came shortly after she did. She gave him a long kiss, got up and said. "Got to go clean up. Russ will be home in an hour. Good night." Roger lie on the bed slowly stroking his cock. He laughed to himself. She has got me. Just like that she took me out of play. I'm no threat, and she has a summer, live-in, fuck-buddy. He recalled Linda telling him, "Got you wrapped around my finger, don't I?" So did Armanda. Just before he fell asleep, he thought, Maneaters control the world. A couple weeks later he was eating lunch with H B. A very pretty young girl, who looked like a teen, walked by their table. "Man, she is hot, edible," Roger, offered. H B bluntly said, "Clay fucked her for five hours last Saturday night." "How in hell did he manage that? He is fifteen years older than she is?" "The old fuck or swim trick." "What to hell is that?" "Clay takes girls across the lake to the Naked Turtle, a dive on the pier at Plattsburg. He gets all the booze into them that he can, and when all looks well, he motors out to the center of the lake, as close as he can to the state line. He stops the boat and puts the make on the female. If she resists, he tells her, Look Baby, either give me some, or I'll put a life preserver on you and toss you overboard." "That shit work?" "Every time. And, he has covered his ass. In a preserver, anyone can make shore in four hours, and if there is a complaint, no one can prove which state has jurisdiction." "Five hours?" "He has a camera set up in the cabin of his Donzi. You could see it all on the tape. Clay had her by both wrists pulling her into the cabin. Put her on her back, still fully clothed. Pulled her panties to the side and ran his salami up to the balls in her. When he come, he took her clothes off. She lies on her back looking at him, not saying a word. Hard again, he got on her and bam, slammed his salami into her again." "You would think that she would never come here again?" "Fat chance of that. Clay gave her five big ones, and told her that there was a lot more for her, if she was interested. Later today, she is to report to the old man, Bradford Delaney, who will invite her to join him at their camp. If she goes, she will make another five big ones." "That is huge money for a hick area like this." "What is really wild is that she is engaged to be married in October. Now that Clay has had her, they will offer her husband-to-be a position as a route salesman. Put him out of town, so they can keep her on her back." Later, thinking about it, Roger asked himself, who is the winner here? That girl has five hundred dollars, and will make another five hundred by laying on her back with Mr. D. If she keeps it up, that young couple will have a nice down payment for a home, within a year. Laughing again, Roger recalled that his Dad often said, "Baseball is not the National pastime." Saturday, August 11 was a steaming-hot, windless day, good for lemonade, and a shady spot. Bored, Roger had to work off some energy with his weights. Standing at just six feet, and weighting a hard one hundred eighty-four pounds, Roger was what some would call ruggedly handsome. Back when he was with Donzi, he and the rest of the crew kept in shape with the weights and boxing with the eighteen-ounce gloves. Nobody fucked with Roger Kovack. You just sensed that he could take care of himself. Russell and Armanda drove to Burlington to take in a movie. At eight-thirty, Roger hopped into his Grady and headed towards Plattsburg, New York to see what was happening at the Naked Turtle. People boated in from all over the lake. The dock was crowded with at least forty boats. Of course, the local crowd was there too. Whole place was jammed, standing room only. Some of the crowd were a rough group. Roger knew that mouthing off to the wrong guy could cost you a few teeth. He stood at the bar, sipping on a Coors. By eleven, he was bored, and was thinking of going back to Clark's. Then, he saw, Asshole, Clay Delaney. Easy to spot him, he wore a red Jacket and a red ball cap. He was leading a gal by the hand into the crowd toward the bar. Clay saw some guys that he knew, other rich turds, with the fancy caps proclaiming them to be a Captain. He waved his fist at them, like he had just won something. As they approached the group, Clay pulled the woman ahead of him to present her as his trophy. From afar, Roger could not see much of her face due to the huge light lens sunglasses she wore, obviously to hide her identity. She was dressed in light tan slacks, and a light tan blouse, and sandals. She stood looking first at Clay, and then at the group. There was no showy greeting on her part, nor did she start a conversation with the other women. Tall, slim, and refined was Roger's take on her. You got that right, Roger thought, when Clay took her to the dance floor. With minimal movement, yet a sexy sway of her Playboy qualified rear, she displayed moves that only a trained dancer would present. She wasn't dancing for Clay, or the hick crowd. No sir. Her eyes were closed as she danced in her own world. As the evening wore on, Roger observed Clay slipping his hand down to the top of her ass, or catching the edge of her breasts. Each time that he did it, she pulled away from him just a couple inches. It was subtle, but anyone other that an ass like Clay would have got the message, don't paw me in public. Roger was suddenly alert. He had to get close to this gal. Had to. Clay left her to go take a piss. Roger sauntered over to her. When beside her, he said loud enough for her to hear, while looking straight ahead. "If you get back in Clay's boat with him, he will take you out to the center of the lake and tell you to fuck or swim." "Excuse me," she softy said. "You heard me. I have a boat at the dock. If you want a ride? I will be happy to take you home. I want to get to know you." With no expression, she evenly said, "How do I know that you won't tell me to do it or swim?" "You tell me? Do I look like a guy who has to pull that cheap crap to find a woman to make love with?" "I'll think about it." Roger drifted back to the bar. A look in the mirror told him that her eyes followed him. Roger had got a better look at this mystery woman when he was speaking to her. She was not a kid. Not much in the way of tits, she was very thin, but was what New York city guys would call a great head, stunningly beautiful. Turning to look at her, their eyes met across the room. She openly stared at him. He knew that he had never known a woman like her. His heart jumped. Clay returned. After the next dance, she went to the ladies room. While she was gone, Roger saw Clay putting something in her drink. Roger knew that if she drank that drink that there would be a long tape made of Clay fucking her. When she emerged from the ladies room, he was standing in the hall. "Don't drink your drink. Clay put something in it." She reached up to touch him softly on the cheek. "Thank you. I saw him do it. Where is your boat?" "Left pier, at the end." "Meet you there in a few minutes, when Clay is distracted. Will he chase us?" "Might, but I'll take care of that." She came running down the pier. The Yamaha was quietly purring. She hopped in. Roger pulled from the pier as Clay came running toward them. "Where are you going with my girl?" he screamed. Now thirty yards from the pier, Roger gave Clay the finger. Enraged, Clay jumped into the Donzi. 540 horses came to life with a roar. Roger's passenger looked at him with fearful eyes. "He is a madman. Will he try to run us down?" "Probably." She looked at him intently. "You're not afraid? You're enjoying this?" "Will be a great show." Just then, Clay shoved the two throttles full forward. There was a rumbling thundering roar as eight thousand pounds of boat rode up onto plane. In feet the Donzi was doing sixty mph. Then the ski lines tied from the bow to the pier by Roger pulled taunt, pulling the bow in a tight arc back into the pier stacked with boats. The Donzi rode completely across a big fishing boat to come to rest bow up on the pier. Roger turned to his passenger, who sat wide-eyed, mouth open in awe. "Ah, shucks, poor Clay. I wonder what he will blow for the nice officers when they check to see if he has been drinking?" "You always get what you want?" She inquired. "Maybe. Ask me again in a couple hours?" She broke into a full laugh. Standing, she stood close to him as he brought the Yamaha up to 3900 rpm, which gave them a quiet, smooth ride at 28 mph. "I'm Sandra Trinkowsky. You are?" "Roger Kovack. Where to Miss?" "Wherever you would like to go." "You live on the Vermont side?" "I am staying at a hotel near the Burlington pier." "I know a nice bay where we can stop and chat." "I'd like that" The bay, next to Benlaw Island was deserted. Roger explained to Sandra that the water was just three feet deep, and always warm. "I would love to take a swim," she ventured. "Don't have my suit." "So?" Roger turned from dropping the anchor to find her standing naked, beautiful in the moonlight. She wrapped her arms around his neck, while whispering, "Thanks for looking after me. I'm not used to that." Roger's heart was pounding so hard that he thought that it would explode. Her lips found his. Hungrily, she used her lips and body to tell him, as only a woman can, that she wanted him, needed him. When his cock slid home, she whispered to him. "Don't move for now. I want you in me while we make love." Their lips and hips slowly ground against each other for minutes on end. The time came when there was no holding back. Roger closed his eyes; while with short hard thrusts his cock coated her cervix with his sperm. He lifted from her to look into her eyes. "Will you marry me?" "You don't know me? When you do, you may not want me?" "If you don't run me off, I will follow you to the ends of the earth." "Roger, first off, you don't have a clue as to who I really am. I would marry you in an instant if you did and still wanted me." "I want to see the Sandra show. For what it's worth, you will find out that I am not a sometimes thing." "Okay, don't tell me later that I did not warn you. I am an actress. My screen name is Susan Blake." "Jesus!" "You can come to Hollywood with me, posing as my chauffeur. Chauffeurs are invisible to those in Hollywood's elite. There is an unwritten rule that a chauffer neither sees or speaks of anything." After a short pause, Sandra continued. "Roger, you have to promise me that no matter what you think is happening to me that you do nothing. If you pulled a stunt like you did on Clay, I would be blacklisted. I am an A list actress. My going rate is five million a picture. There are hundreds of girls walking the streets of Hollywood who are beautiful, but were not willing to be an actress for those who call the shots, the power brokers." "What do you mean by that?" "You figure it out. Tell me later if you still want me? Fuck me now." Roger had a ticket to ride. What man would pass on a chance to be with Susan Blake? Two weeks after they settled into her home in Beverly Hills, A phone call came in from a Frank Sanfilippo's office. "Tell Ms. Blake to be in her limo waiting for Mr. Sanifippo at the Burbank airport general terminal at nine PM, tonight." Sandra (Susan) looked at Roger with sadness in her eyes. "It starts. Soon you will know if I am for you." "Do you regret doing it, or that I will know about it, whatever it is?" "Honestly, there are times that I get a thrill out of men doing what they want with me. But it is the money that takes all my discretion from me. Frank Sanilippo is the money behind California Studios. I have two scripts that I am reading for them. I have the parts if I perform for them. That is a ten million dollar investment in me by them. It will be over a year until both films are in the can. During that time, they consider my body to be theirs. Director, assistant directors, producers, male leads, investors and all their friends get to stuff their cocks in me. Roger, listen to me. I have to convince them that either they thrill me, or that they are raping a poor frightened girl, as the case requires. I am never just fucking, or sucking. If it is a gangbang, I am moaning, pleading, twisting and turning, as I tell them, God, you are so big, you are tearing me apart. Four more films, Roger, and I am out of here. I will be thirty-four by then. In Hollywood, most actress are over the hill at that age." "What then?" "If you have the guts to hang on for the ride, I will give myself to you, and we will ride off into the sunset." Roger remembered Linda's advice to him about a Maneater, "Marry one and stand back and watch the show." Roger held the door for Mr. Sanilippo, who was short, stocky, very tough looking, and Roger was sure was carrying heat, due to the bulge in his suit. "100886 East Ocean Lane." Like most limos this one had a small camera that showed a picture of the rear occupants on a small screen on the hump of the car, as well as a mike to pick up passenger conversation. "Take off your clothes, Susie." Now naked, Susan cooed, "Frank, I missed you." They both knew that that was b s. "Get my cock out and sit on it." Susan unzipped his pants, while he released the belt. Like most Italians, he had a thick cock. She took most of it in her mouth. He took her head in his hands to move her head up and down, as well as sideways. "Sit on it. Make me come." Facing toward the front of the car, Susan lowered her cunt onto his cock. She reached across the space for the jump seat to grab the handles. She ran her cunt forward and rearward at a high rate, with her small tits swinging. Roger's camera was less than two feet from her face, which filled his screen. He saw the determination in her face, while she panted, working very hard to make the fat prick come. Sweat was all over her now. On the edge of the screen, Sanifilippo was visible using his hands to slam her body down on his, while his hips drove his cock upward, deep into her cunt. His grunts and groans testified to his come being pumped into her. "Oh, Frank that was wonderful." "We a going to visit some a real fine boys. Their daddies are all my personal friends. Tommy Salano, he a getting married. Tonight is a little bachelor party we a giving in his honor. You be very nice to all the boys. You keep your driver here so that he can get anything that the boys want. I want him inside, so people not question why he is a hanging around." "Fine, Frank, anything you say." When they pulled up, Susan said, "Wait a minute while I get some clothes on." Frank grabbed her arm pulling her towards the door. "You are here to fuck, Cunt, You're not a going to need any clothes." Looking at Roger, who was holding the door, Frank growled, "You. You a take her to the upstairs bedroom, second door on the left. Make a sure that she pisses, douches. Let her touch up her makeup, and puts on a her heels. Then bring her down to the basement. I a promised them Susan Blake, they a getting Susan Blake." In the bathroom, Susan Whispered, "Roger, do not do anything to piss them off. On a whim these guys would cut us up and feed us to the sharks. Do you understand me?" "God, yes. That guy is "Big Frank" from Chicago, isn't he?" "Yes." "Are you afraid?" Susan looked at him for several seconds before answering. "Roger, I'm a showgirl. My part today is that of the reluctant whore, but a whore nonetheless. These are all clean, young, Italian Stallions who are going to give me a great fucking. I may not like it all, but within the next three hours I will have at least four hard orgasms, whether I want them or not, and even if I think the guys are assholes. Their cocks in my cunt will not be denied. I will come, several times. You will know when I do. My eyes close, my head will turn completely to the side. My legs will open as wide as I can open them, so that I feel their cock extending me. I will pump my ass up with short hard little pumps as I tighten my pussy around their cocks." Roger just nodded. When she strutted into the downstairs room, Roger was surprised to see sixteen guys lounging around. Ages were thirty to forty. Most were stocky, short men, with thick necks. Little was said as they took off their clothes, which revealed a room full of large tight buns, thick legs and cocks that hung well below the owner's balls. Roger had heard that next to black guys, it was the Italians who had the extra meat. He looked at Susan who was now surrounded like a lamb surrounded by wolves. All the guys were examining her face to see if she really was as beautiful as she appeared on screen. Hands were gently running across her ass, across her breasts. One bold guy had his hand between her legs, finger searching for her cunt. Roger thought that if she said, "Boo," that they would all jump. The finger found its mark. That guy got a leer on his face as he furiously finger fucked her, an act which pulled her hips toward him. That broke the spell. She went down, with each arm pulled out to the side. Her legs were held next to her head, and the finger fucker lowered his ugly, reddish, swollen, cock to her cunt. In one motion, he settled on her, as his ass drove forward. Roger could see just the bottom of the cheeks of her ass. Above that there was a large, hairy ass, with the cock-housing running to his balls. The cock was not in his vision, but he could tell when he was buried in her from the impact of the ball hitting her. Each time the balls impacted, he could hear Susan let out a soft moan. 'Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh, oh." Roger knew that was not acting. That thick cock was extending her. Her moans changed. "Oooohooo, Aaaaahhhaaaaaaaaa." Just as she had predicted she pumped her ass up, as best she could, while gripping the thick cock with her clenching cunt. Roger left the room, took a piss, and found a Coors in the fridge. Emotionally, it tore him up to see his love practicing her trade. Only the recollection of the conversation with Linda about the Irish women who wanted to go to the Castle to be fucked by the Governor kept him for doing something very stupid, which probably would have got them both whacked. Susan had just had an orgasm. There was no denying that. In times past, without birth control, she would be being breed, if it were her time of month. Shit, this women thing is complex. What to hell should I think of this? She has told me that if I stay until the final curtain that she will be mine. "Do I have the guts?" She had said. Her beauty was unquestioned. Brains, she was top drawer. She was playing the game by the rules. She was one of only ten to fifteen A list actresses in the entire world. And, astounding, as it may seem, she wants me. Why me? He would ask her some day, but certainly not today. Love Grab at the Naked Turtle Another thought. Just what does a has-been actresses do for sexual kicks, if she has been doing what Susan has been doing for ten years, or so? He would ask her that question sometime too. Just after six the next morning, Roger was shaken by a naked beefy guy with a large flaccid cock. "Hey, you? Hey you? Time for the lady to be going home. You take her now." Susan was in sorry shape. They had poured straight vodka down her throat. She did not know where she was. He carried her into the house, filled the tub, and gently washed her. He filled her douche' bag twice, and used it, trying to clean out her pussy. Tenderly, he placed her on the bed, and then for the next few hours sat on the bed with her, holding her in an embrace, like a child. She seemed so small, defenseless, and delicate in his arms. He wondered what a hundred pound woman thinks about as a two hundred and twenty pound, aggressive man lowers himself onto her, especially if she would rather not have him enter her. How can a woman handle that and be a Maneater too? It was coming to him now. Maybe he was wrong, but it was the only thing that made sense. Under all the posturing, all the modern women's persona, a woman has a deep, animal level need to be taken, to be breed, again, and again. Two weeks later, the male lead of Susan's next film stopped by her home. He greeted her with a cherry, "Hello Love. I thought that I would stop by and spend some time with you so that we are more natural on screen." Roger knew that this was Johnny Dee, known for his love of kinky sex. To Roger, Johnny said, "Hey, Sport. In a half an hour, bring us two bloody marys to Ms. Blake's bedroom." Susan caught Roger eye for just a moment, then spun on her heel to lead the great Johnny Dee to her bedroom. A half-hour later Roger slowly entered the bedroom, without knocking. Susan was on her stomach, with a pillow under her ass, raising it seven or eight inches. Johnny was sharply pumping his cock into her ass, while holding himself in place by gripping her shoulders. Susan had told Roger that she got nothing out of sex in her ass, but she tolerated it because she knew that when a few men had used her that she was tighter there. Susan eyes caught his when he placed the drinks on the nightstand. She mouthed the words, "I love you." Eighteen months later, Susan held an envelope in her hands. "This, Mr. Roger Kovack, is my final check from California Studios. We are free." Sandra (Susan) gave power of attorney to her attorney to sell her home. The next day Roger Kovach and Sandra Trinkowsky drove East on interstate 70. A week later there was a private marriage attended only by family. In the summer, nobody pays much attention to the old Grady with the couple fishing on Lake Champlain. In the winter, the same boat and crew are seen in Tampa bay. Roger has two boat dealerships, just for something to do. Folks in the know say that he has a genius with Mercruisers. When offshore in the Gulf, Sandra likes to lie naked on the front deck. Roger will look over at her, wonder in his eyes. They are worth twelve million unbelievable dollars. She is the most beautiful, horny, woman alive. She is a Maneater, and he still hasn't the slightest idea why she loves him. Tears come to his eyes. She loves him. That's all that counts. I'm Softly. Please take the time to comment and vote.