The Dream Girl
Clifton Henry was born on May 28th, 1899 in the dusty town of Post, Texas. Growing up in Post taught Clifton two things: First, how to be a gentleman to a lady. Second, the finer things and prettier things took their sweet time coming to Post, if at all.
So, when he turned 17, Clifton enlisted in the army. It’s his time in the army that explains how Clifton came to Hollywood from Post, Texas. He had stop-offs along the way in the Argonne Forest, Paris and New York.
In the Argonne he learned that life was fleeting and there is very little time for regret. In Paris he learned how to love a woman and that they don’t always love you back. And in New York he learned how to act. It was only natural that a tall Texan leave the footlights of Broadway (or just off it) to the bright lights of Hollywood.
In Hollywood, time slowed down. Or rather, his career did. It was a year before he even got signed by Famous-Lasky studios, and even then it was only a bit contract for bit roles. But things were looking up. It was on one of those bit roles, as a heavy in the latest Inspector Lightley Mystery, that Inspector Lightley himself took an interest to him.
In 1924 Basil Montjoy was not the big star he had been in 1914 but he was still a well-respected draw. When Clifton was 14 he’d spent every cent he’d owned to go to Lubbock just to see Basil in The Dark Hand of Death at the Odeon. And here he was not only promising Clifton a bigger role in the next movie, but showing him about the town.
He took Clifton golfing along the ocean. He took Clifton out for steaks and whiskey at Musso & Frank. And now he was taking Clifton to the Garden of Alla.
“Do you suppose the rumors are true, what they say about miss Nazimova?” Clifton asked as Basil’s Packard 8 zoomed down Sunset boulevard.
“What, that she fancies the lasses?” Clifton nodded. “Ha, it’s no rumor, old boy. I’ve seen her with women. It’s not like she hides it.”
“And it’s safe to go to this place? Will we get in trouble?”
“No it’s not, and one can certainly hope so.” Basil pulled the Packard on to Hayvenhurst and parked. “Follow me.”
They walked through a cool green courtyard up to an ornate Italianate style house. The sounds of revelry could be heard all the way from the street corner. Inside it was near deafening. The place was packed to the rafters with men and women dancing, drinking, smoking. Everyone was stylish and beautiful. Clifton felt bashful and outmatched.
Basil seemed to recognize that look. He patted him on the shoulder. “Cheer up, lad. You’re the best looking bloke here. Stay put. I’ll fetch us some victuals and drinks.” Basil tottered off, leaving Clifton alone to gawk.
Apart from the rooms being generally full of people, the deck was full, the pool was full. Every antechamber and hidden corner had men and women engaged in some form of frolic. Some corners had just women, a scant few had just men.
He recognized some of them. Valentino held court by the pool, surrounded by adoring women and jealous men. A woman who looked a lot like Clara Bow strolled by. He was pretty sure it was her, but there were at least six other women who looked like Clara Bow.
Basil returned with canapes and champagne. “Come with me, lad. Let me introduce you.” Basil took him by the hand and led him through the throng. He took him on a whirlwind tour, always leading him by the hand and always whispering conspiratorial information as he introduced him to producers (‘He likes young girls, they say. Very young.’), actresses (‘She’s on her 4th husband.’) and directors (‘Stay off his yacht. You’re just his type.’).
When the tour was done they were both a little drunk and a little overwhelmed from the sheer magnitude and spectacle of an Alla Nazimova party. Basil pulled him into a little alcove in the back covered porch and the two collapsed on the couch. Basil leaned over. “So what do you think, lad? Told you I’d show you Hollywood. Warts and all.”
“It’s not quite what I expected. It’s a lot. It’s a bit like Sodom.”
“Oh, it’s exactly like Sodom.” He said, grabbing a bottle of champagne off the floor and refilling both their glasses. “So we better drink to it before we’re turned to pillars of salt by an angry God.”
Basil cheered the glass and downed it. Clifton did the same. When he brought the glass down, Basil moved in and kissed him. Clifton broke the kiss and pushed him away.
“Basil, I’m not a fey.”
“Ask me if I care.” He went in for another kiss, but Clifton pushed him back again.
“I mean it. Stop. I’m not mad. I mean there were a ton of you guys in the trenches. You bled like the rest of us. But I ain’t one of em. You’ve roped the wrong bull.”
“Oh I think I’ve roped the right bull. Don’t play the ingenue with me.” Once again he reached for Clifton’s face.
“Dammit, Basil. I’m serious.”
Basil’s mood turned from amorous to angry. “Don’t be a tease!”
Clifton went to tell Basil to shove it, but got distracted by the most lovely creature he had ever seen. She appeared out of the corner of his eye, sparkling like a mermaid in a full length gold sequin dress. Her long naked arms hugged her curvy hips.
She twirled an empty glass in her fingers and looked around for another bottle to fill it, finally resting her eyes on Clifton and the bottle next to him. She moved across the floor towards them in a motion that was a cross between an exotic bird and predatory cat.
He knew her instantaneously. It was Rose McQueen, better known to folks on the other side of the silver screen as The Harpy. It was the #1 hit of 1916 and it made little 20 year old Rose a star, at least for a little while.
She sauntered up to the pair. Basil took his arms from around Clifton and returned to a more neutral position.
Clifton released his own defensive guard and simply watched her approach. He was too star struck to think of how he looked or acted, for before him was the platonic ideal of femininity. Rose McQueen had gotten him through the end of the war. Rose McQueen had convinced him to go into acting.
France got movies much later than the US, so The Harpy’s European distribution coincided with his post-war time in Paris. He must have seen her slap the evil baron fifty times in the theater. And the end, when she cried for her lost Eldridge, well he cried right along with her. He’d seen her image a thousand times in magazines and seen that saunter a hundred times in film, all to profound effect. But he had never heard her voice. Miss McQueen stopped in front of the couch, rocked on her lovely hips, parted her delicate bright red lips and spoke.
“Fuck off, Barry.”
It was the most beautiful phrase in the English language, made even more delightful by her cockney accent. Basil promptly stood up, adjusted his tux and wandered off into the party.
Miss McQueen flopped down on the couch next to Clifton, coming to rest against him. She turned her side towards him and leaned her arm into his, then folded her left leg over the right so that her left heel just grazed his shin, ever so slightly.
She was much smaller than he expected, a little slip of a thing really. Maybe 5’2” and a hundred pounds soaking wet, but her personality made her seem larger than life, even if she was a foot shorter than him.
“Barry is his real name.” she said. “Dirty little poof. Not that I mind them, mind you. It’s just that it seems like he was cornering you and you could use some help.” She twirled a short curl of her hair waiting for an answer, but Clifton was still stupefied by her presence. “Unless I got that totally wrong and I ruined a lovely date! Did I get it wrong?”
“No, you didn’t” he said bashfully. “Not that I couldn’t handle myself.”
“Oh, no, of course not.”
“But still, much obliged.”
“Barry’s harmless, really. Just lonely these days and a sucker for tall yanks. You just have to be forceful with him. That’s why I told him to fuck off.”
“Shouldn’t you have told him to ‘piss off’?”
“Nonsense! Barry’s not British, he’s from Oregon. He wouldn’t know what it means.” She moved her right hand from her hair to his shoulder. “But you seem to. Can I take that to mean you’ve been in the wars?” Clifton nodded. She eyeballed him head to toe. “And did you come back all in one piece? All your parts in working order?” She playfully lifted up his arm and let it fall.
“Yes, ma’am.” he laughed.
“How about on the inside?” Her tone was sarcastic but her demeanor serious.
He got the message. Some guys left pieces of themselves in some French field. Some brought home ghosts. “No holes there either, far as I know.”
“What’s your name, honey?” Oh to be called ‘honey’ by the Rose McQueen.
“Clifton Henry.”
“I mean your real name, honey.”
“That is my real name.”
“How wonderful for you, then. You don’t have to change it. My name is-”
“I know who you are, Ms. McQueen.”
“Good God, call me Rose.” She declared. “A woman never feels older than when a beautiful young man calls her ‘Miss’. ‘Mistress’ If you must!” She downed her champagne and wiggled her empty glass. “Pass me some more of that John Barleycorn, honey.”
Clifton grabbed the nearest bottle and emptied it into her glass.
“‘Ma’am’ and manners too! Wait, don’t tell me. Guessing from your accent, you must be…” she pondered for a moment. “An Oklahoma boy?”
Clifton frowned. “Texas.”
“Oh dear.” she said in mock seriousness. “Can you forgive me my transgression?”
“For you, anything.”
“And loyal, too.” She pulled out a cigarette from her clutch. Clifton produced a lighter. She wrapped her slender, beautiful fingers around his hand and guided it to her cigarette. It was heaven on earth.
“Careful.” she said. “That’s a lethal combination for some girls.” She batted her eyelashes at him.
“So you know who I am. Have I seen you in anything?” she asked.
“I doubt it.” he replied. “Not unless you’re a big Inspector Lightley fan.”
“Who isn’t?”
“Well, I was dock thug #2 in Lamplight.” He pulled his tie across his mouth and tried to look menacing.
“I knew you looked familiar.” she said. “A very convincing role.”
“You’re kind, to say the least.”
“Well, how about we just agree you have a face that ought to be in pictures.” She shot down the glass of champagne and before she could wiggle it, Clifton refilled it.
“Now now, Texas boy, don’t make a girl drink alone.” She reached across him and tapped his glass. She was now practically in his lap.
“Sorry, ma’am.” Clifton downed it. He was no neophyte when it came to booze. Paris had built up his tolerance, but between Basil and Rose, he’d drunk a lot.
“Say! I have an idea!” she sat up and slapped his arm. “Care to follow me around all night like a lovesick puppy?”
“How do you mean?”
“Be my beau. Fawn over me in public. It will be a gas! Besides, people will ask. You might even make the papers!”
It wouldn’t take his best acting job to follow her around in awe. “Sure thing, but don’t you have a beau?”
“Too many to count at this point.” She stood up and offered him her hand. “So what’s one more?”
For the rest of the fete he travelled alongside the Rose McQueen as her paramour. He dutifully admired her as she regaled guests with tales. He blushed as she introduced him as the breakout star of Lamplight, a bold faced lie if ever there was one, but Hollywood ran on lies. Well, it ran on belief, and belief is predicated on convincing lies. And what’s more convincing than a beautiful, charismatic woman?
Rose was beautiful. Somehow she was more lovely and desirable in real life than she was on the screen. She was radiant, and crafty and just a little bit dangerous. It was all enough to make Clifton wonder what a star like the Harpy was doing with a bit actor from two C-studio movies. Perhaps she was a ‘friend of Nazimova’s’ and Clifton made for a convenient slab of Texas beef to dress up and parade around.
If that were the case he would be heartbroken. Not for himself, but for the idea no man got to consider Rose his own, even if only for the briefest of moments. He decided reasons were unimportant. He would be whatever form of companion she needed, for it was a pleasure simply to be in her orbit.
In in her orbit he was. Rose clinged to him the whole night, only letting go near the end of the evening to go to the powder room, leaving Clifton alone by the pool. The crowd was thinning out now. Only the hardcore, the young and the forbidden lovers remained. Clifton lit a cigarette and stood on the porch steps, taking a moment to himself. He heard a voice from behind. It was Basil.
“Permission to come aboard, sir?” he asked in his best British naval voice.
“Can it, Barry. I hear you’re from Oregon.”
“Washington, actually.” He said in his actual American voice. “Can I come over? I come in peace.” Clifton nodded, but remained wary.
“I’m sorry, Clifton. For before, I mean. I thought you were…” Clifton shot him a look. “Well, like me. I know now you’re not. So honest injun, no funny business.”
“Look,” said Clifton, “I get it. I don’t judge. Your kind dies just the same in the trenches.”
“What a terrible way to make me feel comfortable.” Barry smiled. “But I understand. I was too old to serve myself. But we all bleed red and all that. You’re trying to be accepting. I’m just being a bitch.” Basil smiled a lonely smile and took a drag from his cigarette.
“I appreciate it. I really do. Most ‘actors’ around here come in two stripes: those that beat you for coming on to them or those that will fuck you just to get a part. I can’t decide which one is worse. Those that’ll fuck you are only doing it for their career. The sex is joyless. At least when a guy beats me up there’s some passion behind it.”
Clifton felt a sadness for Barry. All this time he thought Barry was trying to get him in the sack to fuck him, but in truth he was trying to get him in the sack to love him. Clifton couldn’t imagine a life more lonely than that. He put his hand on his shoulder.
“You’ll find someone, Barry. You can’t be the only one of your kind in this town.”
Barry laughed out loud. “Oh you sweet, wonderful rube. You’re really one of the kindest people I’ve ever met.” Barry extended his hand. Clifton took it. “I hope we can be friends, Clifton. The part is still yours if you want it. Lovers are great. Loyal friends even better.”
“Thanks, Barry.”
“Listen…” he said, pulling Clifton a little closer in. “I saw you with Rose McQueen.”
“The Harpy herself.” Clifton replied. “Can you believe it?”
“Yes.” he replied. “Yes I can. And that’s the point. Do be careful around her.”
“What do you mean?”
Barry pulled him in closer, so no one could hear. “Do they teach the classics in Texas schools, kid? Then you know what a harpy is. Well, I’m here to tell you that she’s as close as they come to a real harpy. It’s not just coincidence she won that role. Sure, she has a girl’s face but just like the harpies of Virgil, she’s got sharp talons and an insatiable hunger. She’s ripped apart better men than you. Consumed them.”
“Come on, Barry.” he broke loose from the handshake.
“I’m telling you the truth, kid. Ask anyone around here from the older days. Of course there aren’t that many up this late. Maybe Chaplin if he’s still around here somewhere. But I mean it. She’s a devil. Older women are always that way.”
“Older?” he scoffed. “She’s 27.”
“Ha! Is that what she told you? She’s 33, if she’s a day.” Rose emerged from behind a screen by the back bungalow. “Oh God. Here she comes. We’ll talk later at the studio. Good luck.” Barry scurried off into the main house.
Clifton watched her, still in awe that the amazing Rose McQueen would choose him to spend an evening with. Who cares if she was 33?
“Do I have to save you from Barry every time I leave for 5 minutes?” she teased.
“No, we’ve reached an accord. Friends.”
“Well that’s good. I’d hate to have to hurt him. Can’t have him accosting my little Texan.” She stroked his cheek. Her touch felt electric.
“No need, we were just talking. In fact, we were talking about you.”
“Has that old queen been spreading lies about me?” Clifton smiled a wry smile.
“That cunt!” Her accent was delicious. “What did he say? No wait, let me guess. I’m a real harpy, a man-eater and I’ll claw you to shreds ad leave you wrecked upon the shore if given half a chance.”
“A pretty good summation.” he replied.
“We’re actors, my sweet darling. We have a flair for the dramatic.”
“You wouldn’t, would you?” He asked, taking her hand in his. “Rip me to shreds, I mean.”
“Only If you’re lucky, darling.”
Rose surveyed the dwindling party scene and pronounced it dead. “Do you have a car?”
“My ride left with Barry.”
“Not a problem.” she replied. “Alla and I are close. Come with me. I want to show you something.”
Pandora’s Box
Rose led Clifton into the house, past the remaining revelers in various stages of half-drunk debauchery, past the long table littered with empty booze bottles and up the grand staircase to the 2nd floor. She guided him down a long, Persian carpeted hallway to a room at the end. A man sat reading a trade magazine on a divan just outside the door. He looked up to Rose.
“Is the room empty?” she asked. He nodded and went back to the paper.
Rose opened the door and led Clifton inside. The room was large, encompassing probably the entire south end of Nazimova’s palatial mansion. But the size was the least impressive thing.
The room itself was more like four rooms blended together in a mélange of styles. One side was decked out in leather furniture, bookcases and stonewash paint. It could easily pass for a Jacobean drawing room or castle.
The next corner was decked out in rough hewn furniture and wood paneling. A large fireplace made of river stones dominated the area. At its feet a bearskin rug. An obvious homage to a cabin in the woods.
The third corner had a low bed, silks, pillows and tapestries. It was all enclosed in a canvas tent with braided rope tassels. A bedroom fit for a sheik. The fourth corner contained racks upon racks of costumes for both men and women, and a screen for changing. There was a door to a powder room behind it.
And in the center of this cornucopia of styles were three old ‘wooden box’ one-lens Prevost cameras. They were probably 10 years old by this point which in movie technology was ancient. Each one could only shoot about 4 minutes of film.
“Alla uses this room for test shots and choreography.” said Rose. She placed her hands on Clifton’s Jacket and unbuttoned it. “But she won’t be in here tonight.”
She slid her hands up his chest and eased his jacket off. “We have it all to ourselves.” Rose slid into his arms and with her left hand guided him down to her lips.
Clifton could not believe he was kissing the Harpy. She tasted of champagne and honey. He was shocked as she slid her tongue into his mouth and teased him with it. He wrapped her in his arms tightly and returned the kiss. And then just like that, she broke it off and wandered over to the rack of clothes.
“I wonder.” she said as she pulled out items from the rack, looked them over and placed them back. “Have you seen The Sheik?”
“Just me and everyone in America.”
“Well then.” she said, pulling a robe off the rack. “I wonder how you would compare to Rudy.” She walked over hand handed him the outfit.
He demurred. “I’m no Valentino.”
“Oh please.” she begged. “Humor me.” He relented.
“How wonderful!” she clapped her hands together. “No, change out here. I will go behind the shade and put on something too!” She whisked something off the women’s rack and scurried behind the screen.
Clifton stripped to his essentials and put on the robe, hat and band in no time. Rose took longer. He watched as first the sequin dress flew onto the top of the screen, then a slip. The whole time she talked from behind the screen.
“Tell me, Texan, what did you think of Paris?”
“You’ve never been?”
“I’ve never been east of Shoreditch.” A stocking flipped over the screen followed by the other. “That’s London, darling. It’s where I grew up.” She moved into the powder room but kept the door open. He heard the sound of water running.
“It’s lovely in Paris.”
“I could guess that part.”
“It’s alive. Kind of like here, but more, I don’t know, free. More bohemian. They allow blacks into the clubs and hotels for one thing.”
“Really?”
“Yes. And everybody drinks too much. And the food is better. But there’s a sadness to it, unlike here. There it feels like everybody knows it’s got to end someday. After a while, I couldn’t stay there. It was like a weight on my chest. ‘Fatalism’ I think is what they call it.”
“Did you have a little French belle when you were there?”
“I did.” Colette. His first real love. It was definitely a one-way street. Rose recognized the tone.
“Aw, did she break your heart?”
“She did.”
“That’s too bad, sweetie.” The water stopped. Rose walked to the screen. “Tell me, it wasn’t all bad was it? Did this femme fatale teach you any of her filthy French ways?”
“Haha, some I suppose. I’m not sure I learned much.”
“Did she teach you things that American girls don’t know?” Rose stepped out from behind the screen. She was wearing nothing but short mules, a long translucent chiffon robe and veil.
Clifton could see a hint of color around her nipples and a dark line of her mound through the robe. He turned around quickly and shielded his eyes. “Miss Rose, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to see.”
She moved past him and over to the arabesque set. “Nonsense. I wanted you to see. Look at me. Look, darling.”
He opened his eyes and turned around. She stood in front of a low chair, legs apart in a powerful stance, her beautiful little hands were balled fists pressed squarely into her hips.
“Come over here, Clifton. Don’t be shy. Who has ever heard of a bashful sheik?”
He approached her. He was nervous and deathly afraid of disappointing her. It would kill him to extinguish that playful fire in her eyes. His heart thumped in his chest. He’d been less scared in the trenches.
“I’d dare say you’d give Valentino a run for his money. In the looks department anyway. But Rudy is a charmer where it counts, too. He knows how to make a girl happy. I wonder if you do, Tex?”
At this moment Clifton would do anything to please her. He tried to act casual, like this sort of thing happened to him all the time. “What did you have in mind?”
“Did that French tart of yours teach you anything in the art of pleasing her kitty?”
Her statement shocked him, but her tried to play it off. Luckily for him, Collette had taught him extensively on that particular field, her favorite. He nodded.
“Oh, delightful!” She cried. In one fluid motion she parted her robe and glided down into the chair. She crossed her legs and playfully rolled her pretty ankle in a circle. The mule clung onto her toes for dear life. Her folded legs obscured her mound but the robe was now open, exposing her pert little breasts. Her nipples were a deep red, almost violet. Clifton thanked God almighty that the long flowing robe of his obscured his erection.
“Let’s see if your French lessons were any good.” She pointed at the floor in front of her.
Clifton dropped to his knees.
“You like me, don’t you, darling.”
“Of course.”
“I saw it the moment you laid eyes on me. You’re my little puppy dog, aren’t you?” he nodded. “Would you do anything for me?”
“Anything.” he replied, breathlessly.
“Good.” she relied leaning back in the chair. “Let’s start that French lesson then. Show me your linguistic skills, darling. Make miss Rose happy.”
Clifton thought of Colette, what she liked when he pleased her orally, and how she liked it done. She always liked him to start with her legs. She said it was only right.
A man is beneath a woman, it’s only natural he work his way up to her treasure.
So he started with Rose’s foot. He took her crossed leg, the one she dangled so seductively in front of him, into his hands. He began gently kissing the top of her foot and ankle. He kissed her softly and sweetly as if he were below her, as if her pussy was a great treasure that could only be approached with reverence. Rose smiled approvingly.
“Tell me, what was your tart’s name?”
“Colette.”
“Did Colette like it when you kissed her feet and legs?”
He had moved up to her soft calves at this point. They smelled of citrus. “Yes.”
“And did she instruct you in the art of her pleasure? Guide you?”
“Yes.”
“No American girl would do that, would they?”
“No.”
“Very few British girls either.” she said.
He was now kissing her outer thigh. His hands ran up her calves to her knees.
“But I’m not like most girls.”
“No you are not.” his hands pushed between her thighs and gently parted them. Before him lay her beautiful mound, covered in soft brown hair. It was cropped very close and trimmed into a V shape that matched her contours, something new to him.
“Haven’t seen that before?” she said in reference to her trimmed mound. “It’s a requirement for girls on film.”
He began to kiss her on her inner thighs, moving closer and closer to her pussy. In a moment he would have Rose McQueen’s quim in his mouth. He would hear her sounds of pleasure increase as he moved closer and closer. He, Clifton Henry was only moments away from claiming he pleased The Harpy.
As he got closer and closer, the heat from her mound grew. He slid his hands under her thighs and lifted them up and over his shoulders.
“Ooh, well!” she said. “I like that move. Did Colette teach you that one?”
Clifton didn’t answer, instead he put his lips gently on her clit and gave her a kiss. Rose let out a sigh. She slid a hand onto the back of his head and squeezed gently as he began to use his tongue. He explored her folds, going up and down on either side. He teased her clit with his tongue, alternating between soft and firm, as Colette had instructed him.
“Bête Colette. That girl does not know what she is missing.” she cooed.
Clifton placed his lips around Rose’s clit and with light suction, took it into his mouth. The suction held it firm as his tongue ran circles around it. Rose arched a little and spread her legs wider, locking her ankles across his back.
“You’re a wonderful student, Tex.” He continued teasing her, sucking her. He brought his right hand up underneath her mound and began to trace the outlines of her pussy with a single finger.
“Oh God. That is nice. Very nice.”
Clifton’s senses were filled with Rose. From his perch on her mound his eyes feasted upon the site of her luxurious belly, her nubile tits, her pert nipples and her beautiful face. He watched in delight as she smiled, grimaced, giggled and writhed in pleasure. Her taste filled his mouth, salty and sweet like licorice. His nostrils filled with her scent, a combination of woman and orange. And above all else there were her sounds.
Sounds! When she filled a key void in his life as the Harpy he had the image of her but no sound. Now his ears filled with it. He could tell she was getting close and he hadn’t even unveiled his trick yet.
Rose grabbed him by the back of his neck and pulled him off her mound. She took a moment to catch her breath. “I better not tell Rudy he’s been bested. He’s very fragile.”
Clifton smiled and tried to resume his duties.
“No, no. Not yet, darling.” She placed her hand over her mound. “You said you would do anything for me. Did you mean it?”
“Yes.”
“Anything?”
Clifton wondered what could be more risqué than this. “Of course. Anything.”
“How would you like to star in a movie with Rose McQueen?”
“What, you mean right now.”
“Yes. Right now.” She made a quick motion with her eyes to the cameras behind them. He craned his neck around to see them. They were more or less pointed in their direction.
“Wait. You mean a stag film? No, I can’t. No.” He tried to stand up but she held him in place with her locked legs.
“Oh don’t disappoint me, darling.”
“That’s illegal! I could go to jail. You could go to jail.”
“No one will know it’s you, darling. It will all be filmed from behind.”
“I could lose my job!”
“Ha! How do you think Valentino got his? It’s a rite of passage in this town. I promise, do this and it will open doors for you. I will open doors for you.”
“But…”
“Aw, Tex, don’t let a girl down, not when you’ve got her this close. You’re so marvelous. No one will know it’s you, I swear. You’re wearing a full robe and a scarf on your head! How could they know? Say yes for me. Please your ‘Miss’ Rose.”
His mind was rushed with thoughts. Rose promised it would help his career. But it was also illegal. If he was caught his Hollywood career would be over. He couldn’t go back to Texas. But this was Rose McQueen!
He looked down. Her beautiful pussy lay before him, begging to be pleased. He wanted so desperately to taste her again, to feel her wiggle on his mouth, to be all encompassed in her sounds of pleasure. He looked at her and sighed. “Ok. But my face cannot be in it.”
“Oh wonderful! I promise it won’t be. I don’t know what I would have done if you said no. You have me so very close. Come in René!” The man from the chaise outside opened the door and walked calmly to the cameras. He adjusted the stand of the first one and set it up. He nodded to Rose.
“Stand up, dear.” she said to Clifton. They both stood. Rose folded her robe closed. She positioned him two steps back so that both she and he were in the frame. “Now when he yells action I will say some lines and point you to the ground. You kneel and repeat everything you did up to now. Got it?”
“Yes, Rose.”
“You really are sweet.” She kissed him and moved back into position. “Just think you will always be able to say I played the romantic lead to the great Rose McQueen.”
Clifton heard the sound of the camera crank as René started rolling film. “Action!”
Rose’s face went from soft and charming to angry and impertinent. She flared open her robe and placed her hands on her hips, keeping the robe open. Her acting was overly dramatic, as was required to come through on the film.
“I demand as your victor you give me pleasure! Serve your Queen!” She slowly and very dramatically pointed to the ground in front of her.
Clifton fell to his knees with equal gravitas. Rose let out a maniacal smile and with a flourish returned to the chair in the exact position she had before. Clifton began again from scratch, kissing her feet. Over the next minute he worked his way back up to her pussy and returned to pleasing her.
She locked her ankles together across his back. All the while the hand crank whirred, recording her pleasure.
I’m on film. I’m in a stag film. My head is between Rose McQueen’s thighs! His mind raced with a million thoughts. These thoughts fought for space with his animal brain, that was all consumed by her sounds. He continued sucking and tonguing her clit while running his finger around the outside of her tunnel. She rocked and bucked. Her hand rushed and guided his head.
He decided she was ready for his trick. He turned his hand upside down and slid his index finger inside her about an inch until he could feel the rough circular patch underneath her clit. He began running the tip of his finger around it slowly.
“Oh, she taught you well. She taught you very well. You’re going to make me come. You’re going-”
“Freeze movement!” Rose froze in place with her hands locked on Clifton’s head and her feet wrapped around his back. Clifton stopped what he was doing and remained still. The four minutes were up and René needed to switch cameras so shooting could resume. “Only take a minute.” He said.
Clifton looked up at Rose from her pussy. She smiled at him.
“You’re doing so great, Tex. I mean really great. He’s gonna start the second reel in a minute and soon after that you’re going to make me come, honey. I can feel it. You’re really good. But you’ve never been with a girl like me, I’m betting. You’re doing real sweet, darling. Real fine. Just be prepared.”
Clifton couldn’t speak or move but his face said ‘ready for what’?
“My orgasm, darling. Don’t worry, it’s totally natural. A lot of men like it. Just go with it and follow my direction after, okay?” Clifton nodded. What did she mean ‘her orgasm’? “Crackers, darling.”
“Get ready…” said René as he started turning the crank again. “Action.”
Clifton resumed sucking her clit and running his finger in circles just inside her walls. It did not take long for Rose to get right back to the edge.
“Oh damn, oh damn, honey. That feels so amazing.” She began to rock her hips bringing her mound to bear on his mouth. “You’re getting me very, very close.” She unlocked her legs and spread them a little wider.
Clifton took his finger and made a come hither motion with it bringing it in and out of her pussy, rubbing both the rough spot and the base of her clit.
“Oh my God, Clifton.” she said. She pulled her legs up and pressed her feet onto the top of his shoulders. She pressed her hands onto the top of his head.
He continued sucking and tickling.
“Oh my God. I’m cumming. I’m cu-” Her back arched hard and she threw her head back. She pressed her feet hard into his shoulders which in turn pushed his head down onto her.
He felt the walls of her vagina pulse around his finger. He couldn’t see anything, only hear her cries of passion, feel her spasms, smell her skin and taste her orgasm.
At first it was only a bit of wetness on his chin and a taste on his tongue as she came, but then as her vagina pulsed around his moving finger he felt more. Liquid ran down his finger and hand, followed by a burst onto his lips and chin each time his finger came out to graze the base of her clit. It shocked Clifton and he tried to pull away, but Rose pushed him back down.
“No! Not yet. Not yet please!”
Over and over she spasmed, each time producing another flow of her come. It ran warm and fast down his neck. It tasted undeniably like her only softer and more subtle.
Rose finished the last of her orgasm and released Clifton who fell back away from her, arms at his sides, a look of shock on his face. Rose placed her legs down on the ground and brought her chest forward. She pointed at Clifton.
“Surrender!” She demanded. “Show submission to your queen!”
Clifton didn’t understand what she wanted.
She whispered to him through her teeth. “Lean forward and kiss my pussy, darling. Hold it until he says cut.” Clifton hesitated. “Do it.”
He leaned his head forward, placed his lips on her warm, wet pussy and held it there. His head tilted as Rose leaned back into her chair.
She lifted her legs above him, but instead of placing them on his shoulders she grabbed her calves and lifted her legs high above her, straightening them and fanning them out above him. She held this position for what seemed like half a minute until René yelled ‘cut’.
“You can stop now, darling.”
Clifton sat back again. He watched her get up from her chair, fasten her robe closed and walk to René. They talked briefly, but Clifton heard nothing. He merely sat there on his knees, in the middle of the floor, his hands on his lap.
There he remained as René gathered the canisters and left the room. There he remained as Rose went to the powder room and freshened up. He remained there, in fact, until she returned, picked him up and led him to the bed. She gently removed his robe and his underclothes and guided him under the covers where she joined him. She slid her hand down his chest, down his belly to his aching cock. It only took a minute of stroking to bring him to climax.
“There now. That wasn’t so bad, was it? And you were marvelous.” she said as she sidled up to him under the covers. He nodded. She kissed him gently. “Go to sleep, darling. It’s been a long evening. And miss Rose is tired.” Clifton said nothing. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”
Source: reddit.com/r/eroticliterature/comments/7oeqj1/the_harpy_a_novel_part_1_femdom_romantic
Well done – with a grand finale!