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Category: Erotica/Classic Erotica
Description: More Sexpadilloes of the Rich and Famous. What happens when the decadent Hollywood set goes AC/DC? Read the sensational revelations in this authentic novel by a Hollywood insider. From prostitutes to producers (and who is to say there is a difference?) discover who does what do whom. Wild sex parties are only the beginning. Here is erotic fiction so frank it will singe your eyebrows off! First ever book publication. Don't miss Hollywood Hustlers I!
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/PageTurner, 2005
eBookwise Release Date: September 2005

2 Reader Ratings:

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Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [142 KB]
Words: 32441
Reading time: 92-129 min.

When Maurice woke up in the morning, he was flaccid. He was only thirty five years old, but was already suffering from a depleting libido. But he drew strength from the nubile body asleep next to him. He reached over to feel the youthful exuberance of his bed companion.

The firmness of his bedmate's shaft always caused Maurice to grow nostalgic, recalling his salad days when he always awoke turgid.

His lover and companion was Rock Stone, an eighteen-year-old male starlet who got bit parts at Olympic Studios and an occasional moment in television commercials. A delightful and tasty young stud.

Maurice's apartment, Number 322 at the Emperor's Arms Apartments in Hollywood adjoined Rock's apartment, Number 323. That was no accident, since Maurice paid the rent for both places. Maurice could not have an actual male roommate. That could be damaging to his image as one of Hollywood's leading men--Maurice Delatour, the Great French Lover.

When Maurice took gentle purchase on Rock's member, Rock's eyes sprung open. Nothing will shake a man awake like having his cock grabbed, however gentle that grab may be. Even so, Rock was used to it. Most mornings he was awakened by that startling feeling of an erotic dream being punctuated by the sensation of a warm hand grazing the very core of his being.

"Good morning, Rock."

Rock always woke up with a hardon. He also always awoke with the need to pee. So his answer to the loving touch at his mid-region and the friendly, French accented, "Good morning, Rock," was usually answered by simply removing his bedmate's hand from his dong, slipping out of bed, and mouthing something like "Mornin."

By the time Rock reached the bathroom, his flag had descended sufficiently to allow him to relieve himself.

He rinsed his mouth, took a swig of Listerine, gargled, and then admired his handsome young face with its overnight blond stubble in the mirror.

Now it was time to pay the rent. That is to say, to insure Maurice of his morning romp. By delivering sexual satisfaction to his lover and companion, Rock had free rent and use of Apartment 323. He also got breakfast at Maurice's, plus regular, but not overly-generous, infusions of cash into his often hungry wallet.

The feel of Rock's cock had caused Maurice's member to sluggishly perk up. But by the time Rock returned to the bed, the tired thing had lost its enthusiasm.

Rock's first actual job of the morning was to suck Maurice's tiny cock to a full erection. This always worked in a matter of seconds. Rock's mouth music was worth a pack of Viagra pills. Once Maurice was ready for action, Rock was allowed the choice of what they would do. Maurice was the top man and Rock the bottom. Yet the youth was allowed to decide on the morning's drill. He could take Maurice further in his mouth, take him in the ass, or exercise his hand.

This morning, as indeed on most mornings, he chose mutual j.o. It was the least taxing, and always satisfied Maurice's need for rejuvenation just fine.

After each man had achieved his morning orgasm, Maurice went to the bathroom to brush, shower, and shave while Rock prepared breakfast for the two of them. He always did the food preparation nude because Maurice got pleasure from watching that well-muscled body moving around in the kitchen as he stepped out of the bathroom.

Maurice got fully dressed and sat opposite his nude male lover at the breakfast table. A half grapefruit, French toast, bacon, and coffee. The boy was such a pleasure. He did the grocery shopping, using Maurice's credit card reserved for that purpose alone. He prepared a savory breakfast. And he was a reliable lover morning and evening. A real treasure.

After breakfast, Maurice was off to Lacy's apartment at the Hollywood Egyptian Tower. Lacy was his female lover, and she would be expecting him for "tea and comfort" by ten o'clock. He was not due at the studio at all that day, so he could while away the time at his mistress' to his heart's content.

When Maurice left, Rock put the dishes into the dishwasher, cleaned up around the kitchen, and went through the connecting door to his own place. His own lover, Marlene Grabo, would be coming by around ten o'clock for her morning romp.

Marlene was a star. She had been a star for about as long as Maurice had. They had even made a few movies together some ten years or so ago. And had a love affair at the same time. Now, like Maurice, she was being offered more "character parts" than glamour roles by the studio. She was forty years old and would admit to thirty five or so of them. Making her, in her own eyes, the same age as her old lover Maurice.

Rock performed his bathroom libations, and got dressed in one of the expensive sports outfits Marlene had bought for him.

He needed Marlene. She paid for his gym membership. She bought him the most stylish clothes available anywhere. And she often gifted him with cash. But, like Maurice, she felt it in her best interest to keep Rock somewhat financially wanting and thus dependent.

She didn't mind sharing her boy-toy with Maurice. Nor did Maurice begrudge her relation with his lover. Rock's condition satisfied each. And, after all, prudery had little currency in the culture of Tinsel Town.

Before he had come to Hollywood, Rock had had extensive romantic interludes. From before high school, girls had swooned over his natural blond good looks. Sex came easily to him. He developed a certain callow finesse in the act. When Marlene "discovered" him, she taught him the nuances she had learned as a movie star for more years than she cared to admit to. He knew what was expected of him when romancing a mature woman. And he got pleasure from exhibiting his erotic expertise.

Marlene entered his apartment without knocking. She had her own key to the place. They both felt it was her right.

She was stunningly attired, as befitted the glamour queen she had once been. Her body was that of a woman half her age thanks to the regimen imposed on her by her private trainer and the scalpel incisions introduced into her body by her plastic surgeons.

Rock's ever appraising eye found no fault with what he saw. She did not turn him on like girls more nearly his own age. But she was still a very sexy appearing creature.

Marlene's lover had two duties. He had to adore her and he had to seduce her. The adoration part consisted in telling her constantly how glamorous, how beautiful, and how irresistible she was while exploring her body avidly with hand, mouth, tongue and genitals. She had taught him how to utter worshipful words while simultaneously tonguing her clitoris. Rock may not have been much of an actor, but he was an apt learner, a handsome young stud, and qualified for the part.

Seduction of an aging actress who is a sure thing simply required what is known as the suspension of disbelief. Rock only had to think of the girls and boys his own age who did sometimes require seduction techniques and put the face and body of one of his recent conquests on Marlene. This kind of fantasy loving is not uncommon among even those mortals who do not dwell within Hollywood's portals.

Marlene made sure that Rock's apartment was always well-stocked with Veuve Clicquot champagne, her favorite. He always kept a couple of bottles pre-chilled.

"You are looking particularly lovely this morning, Marlene. May I offer you a glass of champagne?"

"It is rather early in the day," she replied. "But I am a trifle thirsty. I might enjoy a sip of water."

"The tap water here in Hollywood is ghastly," he said. "I happen to have a bit of French bubbly here in this ice bucket. It is really quite pleasant and I find it preferable to the local water."

The routine varied from time to time, of course. But Rock always managed to get Marlene to assuage her thirst with one or two bottles of Madame Clicquot's sparkling grape juice while he showered her with compliments and attestations of his undying love.

Somehow, against her protestations of innocence, he always managed to get her disrobed and into the bed that dominated his bedroom. On this particular morning he had tango music ululating from the top of the line high fidelity player Marlene had installed in the room.

As his lips grazed her swan-like neck, she protested. She assured him she was not "that kind of a girl." But her moans, surprisingly in synch with the beat of the tango, suggested otherwise.

He whispered sweet nothings to her world-famous bosom. As he blew on the nub of her nipple, he watched it harden and incorporated that blooming pip into his mouth. While he was engaged in suckling he was excused from rhapsodizing orally about her charms. His mouth was silently singing paeans to the orbs that still drew the interest of a certain generation.

Next, attention was directed to that abdomen whose navel had dazzled the millions in her bare-midriffed harem-girl costumes of yore. As he mouthed around the area, with playful tongue thrusts into the bellybutton, he went through a litany of her charms. He accomplished this on auto-pilot. The lines were trite and banal, but they flowed with a logorrhea that caused the great actress' vulva to clench. Again, to the rhythm of "Jealousy," oozing from the hi-fi.

Marlene's legs and ankles were legendary. And were easy for Rock to praise. He had fucked few chicks of any age with comparable gams.

A particular technique he had developed since arriving in Hollywood was using his cock as a stimulating agent. He ran that instrument up and down her thighs, drawing designs, approaching the "Y" slowly, teasingly.

When the tip of his prick nudged the hood of her clit, her pussy began quivering in anticipation. She reached down and stroked her clit with the glorious knob that crowned his manhood.

In a shriek that resounded across to the Hollywood Hills she exclaimed, "Take me, You Mad Gorgeous Fool. I am all yours."

The mad gorgeous fool plunged his shaft into the panting vagina. Having been relieved of a load by Maurice not too long before, he still was able to pleasure her with ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen thrusts before filling her with his warm, thick essence.

He got out of bed and brought her a flute of champagne while she delved into her purse for her cigarette and holder. He offered her the flute while simultaneously flicking the bedside lighter and holding it to the cigarette.

Rock did not smoke. Tobacco that is. He was never adverse to inhaling a bit of pot when with his age mates. He thought of tobacco as a pleasure for people his mother's age. He did, however, join his lover in sipping the Veuve Clicquot.

When she had finished her cigarette and champagne, they set their glasses on a bedside table and Rock stretched out for Marlene's detailed exploration of his musculature.

Rock had always been a better than average athlete. And had worked out with weights from his early teens. So he brought a well-developed set of muscles with him to Hollywood from Chicago.

Marlene paid Rip Hanks, the personal trainer at Brewster's Gym, handsomely to perfect each and every one of Rock's muscles to even more perfect display. She was paying for those youthful muscles and intended, every time she was in bed with them, to run her fingers over the merchandise.

She had paid for and bedded young musculatures for many a year. And had learned the names of the muscles and loved to articulate them as she brushed her beautifully manicured fingers over each one as it flexed and rippled for her pleasure.

She worked her way, muscle by muscle, down to the one "muscle" she truly adored.

Marlene had practiced fellatio for a good number of years. Rock had to grant that she was a pretty proficient cocksucker for a chick. Not as versatile, of course, as some of the dudes of his acquaintance. But damned good, anyway.

She released his cock from the grasp of her lips.

"I want to see you come," she insisted.

Rock had ammunition in reserve. As the jism erupted from his dick, she licked it off his abs as they tightened and quivered.

Another flute of champagne enhanced the flavor she loved, the essence of youth.

Rock told her he had a ten-thirty audition at the Pan-Global ad agency down on Sunset to audition for a laxative commercial. He elaborated that the part called for him to reach for Brand-X, while a somewhat overweight lady admonished him to choose a gentler stool softener. He laughed that if he landed the gig, the residuals would be welcome enough to make the teasing taunts of his pals bearable.

He dressed again in the classy sports outfit Marlene had provided for him. She stayed behind in the apartment to kill the opened bottle of wine.

She lounged. She smoked. She drank. She put a CD of Viennese waltzes in the player. She sized up her epidermis in all three of the full-length mirrors that graced the walls.

Marlene leafed through the papers in one of her lover's dresser drawers.

A letter in progress was in a pile of papers. The dear boy was writing a letter to a person who apparently was an uncle. It began, "Dear Unkie Al."

She stretched out on the bed, her upper body supported by the oversized pillows she had bought for Rock's bed.

She lit a cigarette, and began to read the draft Rock had made of a letter to a dear relative. How amusing.

"Dear Unkie Al,

"You will be pleased to know I have met the girl of my dreams."

Imagine, me. The 'girl of his dreams.' What a sweetheart the laddie is.

"I have asked her to marry me, and, she has blessed me by accepting my proposal."

Proposal? What kind of shit is this?

"I know you will approve of my choice. She is a very sweet girl, much involved in church work..."

Church work? He sure as Hell doesn't seem to be thinking of me. Proposal! Church work! That sneaky little son of a bitch. He's trying to slip out of my grasp.

"Her name is Lacy Greeland. I am enclosing a picture of her so you can see the sweet innocent face that has captured my heart."

Christ almighty. Lacy! That whore! Picture?

Marlene ransacked the papers in the dresser drawer. But there was no picture of Lacy.

"That son of a bitch bastard I've been helping out. And he's going to get married to Lacy, one of Hollywood's most notorious courtesans. A woman who was one of my lovers back ... a while ago. This calls for action!"

Lacy Greeland's telephone number was not listed in the Hollywood phone book. But Marlene's network of sources soon enough provided a telephone number and an address Marlene recognized. Lacy was living at the Hollywood Egyptian Tower Apartments on Cahuenga.

"Hello, Lacy Dear? Guess who's calling? I knew you'd recognize my voice immediately. Everyone does. But, especially old dear friends like you. It's been ages, hasn't it? And I've missed seeing you so. Look, Darling. I just must see you. It's an emergency. Life or death matter you know. Would you be an angel and spare a few minutes for me this morning? Oh, no! It can't wait. You're at the Hollywood Egyptian Tower aren't you? I'll be right there, Dear. Ta-ta!"

Marlene was out of the Emperor's Arms as fast as she could get herself dressed and into her Bentley.