Hollywood Nights

I had met Jeff a couple of weeks before at a party. In Los Angeles on a much needed vacation, a friend of a friend had put me in contact with some people into the S & M scene in L.A. There were always lots of hangers on and wannabes around here, people with big mouths and little gray matter between their ears, people who just didn’t understand what it was all about. Jeff was different. He talked with me for hours about my involvement in the Texas S & M scene. Little by little I got to know others, a small time actress, a recording executive’s wife; quiet, powerful people. Little by little I made connections.

The denizens of Hollywood are always searching for a bigger and better high, the dark, bizarre, erotic and violent hold a special facination for them. Hollywood’s hedonism was already well established when small-time actress Virginia Rappe died on the 12th floor of the St. Francis Hotel in San Fransico September 5, 1921, crushed, as rumour has it, by silent star Roscoe “Fatty” Arbuckle during a hot sweaty sexual encounter. Anton Szandor LaVey, founder of the Church of Satan, counted many entertainers among his followers including singer Barbara McNair. Actress Jayne Mansfield once served as a nude altar for a private satanic ceremony. LaVey may have engaged, along with some of his followers, in cannibalism; human flesh provided by a medical student. Richard Prior set his head afire in 1980 freebasing, using purified cocaine to get the ultimate rush. Charlie Sheen was linked to Heidi Fleiss in 1995, the Hollywood Madam, procurress of prostitutes for the rich, famous and kinky. Meanwhile, Madonna published her Sex Book in featuring bondage, disipline and supermodel Namoi Campbell. This was the culture in which my current circle of friends had grown up. Only the forbidden and extreme could sate their jaded sexual appetites.

At seven thirty a late model silver Nissan Sentra with tinted rear windows pulled up in front of the hotel. The driver, tall, wearing Giorgio Armani sunglasses and dressed in casual but conservative black attire opened the rear door. Inside were two other women, one of whom I recognized as a well-known blonde singer the other a tall red-head actress I had seen at several of the private parties I had attended. Both were in their early twenties, young and fresh-faced. I got in and the car and it sped off taking a circuitous route into the canyons and hills of L.A. After about thirty minutes we arrived at a nondescript house on quiet cul-de-sac. The driver let us out at a small walkway going through a narrow opening in a high vine covered fence to the side door of the house. It was a warm, clear night high in the Hollywood Hills, the scent of gardenia wafted through the humid air. We walked up to the door and knocked. It opened, just a crack, and someone looked out at the three of us standing there. Nothing said, the door opened fully and we walked in.

The air inside was cool and dry, the house decorated in a southwestern motif, oranges, browns and muted reds mixed with hints of turquoise and turtle green. An eclectic range of art hung on the walls, tribal masks from the Ivory Coast, bright sunny paintings by a well-known Hatian artist, primitive metal sculptures from rural Kentucky. Opaque cranberry-colored drapes covered all the windows. Guests carrying drinks walked about in two adjoining rooms, both sparsely furnished , a low black leather daybed in one room, a bar, table and a few chairs in the other. Thick rugs covered the hardwood floors, absorbing the sounds of our footsteps.

I got a glass of wine from the bar and looked around. There were no men here, only women. Guests had been arriving in groups of two and three at random intervals, a method apparently intended to keep the event very low profile. By nine thirty there were about fifteen women present and the influx of guests had stopped. All of us were wearing dresses, mine was small, tight, black and sheer with thin spaghetti straps. It was short, stopping just below my crotch and because the fabric clung so tightly to my body, I didn’t wear any underwear which would break the smooth outline of my dress.

At ten o’clock a young man, about twenty years old, five foot ten with short black hair was escorted into the room by two of our female hostesses. He was blindfolded and wearing a black robe. They stopped by the daybed and removed his robe. His body was sleek, muscular with a deep, overall tan. A tattoo of black barbwire encircled his right arm. Laying him on the daybed they proceeded to bind each wrist and each ankle with a stong, black velvet cord tying it to the corresponding leg of the daybed, tightening the cords so that he was unable to move. By this tme all the guests had assembled around the daybed, sipping their drinks and chatting.

The young man’s name was Sam, or at least that’s what I was told. Sam was the counterpart of female anorexics, he possessed a dreadful loathing of his own distorted body image. Nine and a half months ago he had quit his job as a lifeguard and now spent all of his time working out, becoming more and more depressed with each passing day. That’s where they had found him, working out at Muscle Beach, the outdoor gym run by the Los Angeles Department of Parks and Recreation in Venice, California. It took time to recruit him, checking his background, making sure he wouldn’t talk to anyone, that he had no criminal background, nothing that would make him stand out or bring attention to him. The blindfold made sure he did not see any of the participants at the party, that he could not identify them. He would remain blindfolded for the rest of the evening.

In a few minutes, another woman entered the room. She was dressed in a nurse’s uniform, a dark, somber green and carried a stainless steel tray with a ampule and syringe with an extremely fine needle attached. Placing the tray on the daybed beside Sam, she took the ampule and broke the neck. Inserting the tip of the needle into the ampule she filled the syringe with the liquid. Moving down to Sam’s hips she reached over and grasped his penis. His penis was an impressive size, at least six inches even though flaccid. She picked a site about one third of the distance from the end, inserted the needle into the shaft and injected the contents of the syringe. As she cleaned up, I picked up the empty ampule and read the label; alprostadil.

It took about fifteen minutes for the drug to work; Sam developed a magnificent erection, at least ten inches long with an inch and a half shaft diameter and a flaring glans nearly the size of a billard ball. The guests turned their attention to his penis, pinching, stroking and examining in detail the organ which stood hard at attention, a small stream of pre-cum fluid trickled out the end of the penis and ran down the undersurface.

Now the fun began. One of the hostesses distributed black poker chips, one to each guest. In the center of the chip was a number written in white lettering. Back at the bar, the other hostess reached into a large jar, pulled out a single white poker chip and called out the number, “Seven, who is the lucky lady with the number seven”. An older woman raised her hand with the lucky chip in it. The hostess who had distributed the chips came over to her and whispered in her ear then they both went over to the side of the daybed. I recognized the older woman as being the wife of a senior record company executive. She was in her late fifties but still in good shape with long blonde hair, large blue-grey eyes with a wide mouth. Her dress was black, low-cut in the front revealing a pair of large breasts held at bay by a very solid looking black bra. At the daybed, the older woman reached up under her dress and pulled down her black panties, stepping out of them before dropping them on the floor. She folded up the hem of her dress revealing a blonde swatch of curly pubic hair and a gently rounded belly. As she climbed onto the daybed I could see that the hair on the slit of her vulva was already wet with excitment, dewy beads of juice glistened in the light. With help from the hostess she positioned herself squatting over the erect penis, she bent slightly forward, her hands helping to support her, the penis swaying slightly, glans gently brushing her damp pubic hair. The hostess pulled out a bottle of lubricant and squirted some on the glans. With that, the older woman lowered herself onto the erection. I could hear the wet, slurpy, liquid sound as the penis plunged between the full, fat lips of her vulva and pushed deep, deep into her vagina. Reaching her limit, she stopped for a moment then began rising, the penis moving slowly out of her vagina as a mixture of vaginal juice and lubricant trickled down the sides of the shaft. Her eyes were closed and her lips pursed in a calm ecstasy. Just as the flared glans appeared betwen the outer labia she bore down again, forcing the penis deep inside her body. She undid the front clasp of her bra with one hand and released her large breasts. Her nipples were erect three-eights of an inch across and half an inch high with large, dark brown areoles set against a clear white skin. As she moved up and down her breasts gently swayed back and forth, long blonde hair stuck to her sweat drenched forehead, her face contorted in erotic agony. I could smell her perfume vapourized by her body heat; she moved faster and faster, the penis pulling fully out of her for a moment before plunging back inside nearly full length. After four minutes, Sam came just as his penis pulled out of her body; his thick, sticky semen splattered over her vulva and thighs as she plunged back down on his erection. Even though he had come, Sam didn’t loose his erection because it was drug induced. The woman continued for another five minutes experiencing orgasm after orgasm, before rolling off, exhausted.

Next up was a Latina actress in her late twenties with long brown hair and seductive brown eyes. She quickly stripped off her dress revealing petite breasts with hard pink nipples, a toned body, firm belly, a thick tangle of curly brown pubic hair and rounded buttocks. Straddling the penis on her knees she positioned the slippery organ with her fingers and began a rhythmic bouncing, forcing the penis rapidly in and out of her tight vagina. Each time she rose, her muscular vagina grasped the penis tightly pulling it upward, not releasing it until well into the upward stroke. The hostess squirted lubricant onto the penis shaft and the actress’s mons which she rubbed into her pubs while continuing to bounce up and down, the lubricant mixing with copious quanties of her vaginal juice and running down the sides of the stiff penis. It didn’t take her long to have her first orgasm, she let out a shrill animal scream, her arm and neck muscles tensing then relaxing. She continued for another three minutes, moaning, grunting, screaming as she continued to come again and again.

The blonde singer I had met in the car couldn’t wait any longer. Removing her thin black panties she went to the head of the daybed and positioned herself so her hairy crotch was just over Sam’s mouth, a few crisp blonde pubic hairs tickling the tip of his nose. I craddled his head with my hands and raised it slightly so his lips touched her vulva. She responded by slipping down the straps of her dress, her large, firm breasts tumbled out, nipples erect then she reached down and began to massage her clitoris with the tip of her finger, pulling back the loose skin of the hood on every stroke to reveal the sensitive head of the organ. Sam’s tongue flicked gently against the engorged clitoris and from my position I could see juices beginning to run out of her vagina and drip into his open mouth. One interesting thing I noticed about the blonde singer’s breasts was a very faint, semi-circular scar running along the lower edge of each of her large pink aeroles; a definite indication of breast augmentation surgery. As she became more excited she dropped lower, her swelling labia forming a seal against his lips as he sucked and licked. I could see from the movements of his jaw that he was thrusting his tongue deep inside of her as she wiggled atop his face, her head tilted and back arched, jerking with each orgasm, sweat running down her face and neck, dripping off her heaving breasts. When she finally got off Sam’s face, I saw her engorged inner labia and turgid clitoris, purple and sopping wet, hanging a full inch below her swollen outer lips. I gently kissed her clitoris and felt it respond, tasted her salty wetness, ran the tip of my tongue along the soft, smooth edge of her labia minora.

After a four more women mounted Sam it was my turn. I ran my hand over his chest and could feel his heart pounding with excitment. Placing my hands on his shoulders I assumed a doggy-style position on my knees then gently lowered myself onto his erect penis. Fresh lubricant had been applied to the glans, it felt warm, wet and soft as it first touched me and became harder as it pushed between my labia majora and began to burrow deep into my vagina. Even with the lubrication the penis was large enough to press hard against the vaginal rugae, giving me that pleasant full feeling you get from vaginal sex. As I moved up and down, faster and faster, I could feel my body pumping out hot juice that trickled down to join that of the other women that had gone before me. The thick, hard shaft massaged me internally and brought me to orgasm again and again. Then I felt something odd, a brush of hair against my thighs. I looked behind me and saw the Latina actress had moved up between Sam’s legs and now had her head down between my spread legs, I felt her tongue move up along my hot, wet slit, then inside, between my labia and Sam’s penis. She continued to lick and suck as I moved up and down. Finally, I pulled up, his penis now free of my vagina, still hard and wet, gently swaying back and forth. The actress pushed her tongue deep into my vagina, swirling it around, then flicked it once against my sensitive anus before going down on the stiff, purple penis still wet with my moisture. She finished off quickly so another woman could have her turn, moved to the head of the daybed supporting Sam’s head while I moved forward with my wet crotch directly over his mouth so he could have a taste of my most intimate fluids. His tongue explored every nook and cranny of my vulva, gently massaging my clitoris, pushing up inside my vagina, playing with my sensitive pee-hole.

It took another hour before all the women had their turn. Sam still had an erection, he was covered in his own sweat and the sweat and love juice of fifteen women. The hostesses had brought out a bowl of water and a washcloth and were washing his genitals. They dried him off. The daybed was a unique model made by Dahkota Furnishings of California that can be moved to an upright position for compact storage. With Sam still blindfolded, still strapped to the daybed, the hostesses now moved it to it’s upright position and wheeled it against a wall. At the bar, one of the hostesses reached into the large jar, pulled out another white poker chip and called out the number, “Eleven, who is the lucky lady with the number eleven”. This time the lucky lady was a diminutive woman about eighteen with long black hair, a pale complexion, narrow face, green eyes, full lips and sporting a tattoo of a red rose intertwined with the initals "RTS" on her left shoulder, an actress I recognized from a sitcom that ran on NBC a couple of years ago.

Two of the hostesses returned with the woman in the green nurse’s uniform. With them they carried a large shield made of clear plastic about a quarter inch thick, eighteen inches square, with a two inch diameter hole in the middle and long black leather straps with buckles on the top and bottom. The hostesses took this over to Sam and fitted his erect penis through the hole, then with some extra pushing and pulling managed to get his scrotum with both testicles through the hole as well although it was a tight fit. It was secured by passing the long straps around behind him and pulling them taut with the buckles so the plastic shield was pulled up tight against his front. His massive ten inch erection bobbed up and down, his scrotum swollen and turning a dark red from being constricted by the tight fit. The lucky actress had been talking with the woman in the nurse’s uniform who handed her an ornate knife with a sharp, curved blade about ten inches long. The actress took the knife and went over to Sam. Standing at arms length, she used the flat side of the knife to hold up the glans, looking at it with a glassy-eyed stare. A smile crossed her face; she brought the knife up, around and down on the penis from the top severing the glans cleanly from the shaft in a single swift motion. Blood spurted in pulses from the raw end of the shaft as the severed glans dropped to the floor. Before the remaining penis could shrink very much she grasped the bleeding end, pulled the organ tight and sliced off the rest of the penis, the scrotum and the testicles it contained flush with the plastic shield. The woman in the nurse’s uniform moved in to take care of Sam who had fainted from the abuse.

The parts were rinsed off and placed in a glass bowl to which red wine was added. Each woman in the room got to sip from the bowl, touching her lips to the sexual parts of the male that floated forlornly in the wine, the parts that would never again experience the touch of a woman.