Pauline Nottee - Action backstage

"Candy, beautiful, that about wraps it up for this film."

"Thanks, Frankie," the voluptuous brunette said, exhausted now that the shooting had been wrapped up. She waved weakly to the director behind the camera and fumbled for her robe. "I could use a glass of iced tea."

And I can also use a cold shower, Candy Mullender thought, sniffing the air. She could smell the rich, ripe woman-scent of her own perspiration and feel the moisture coating her smooth, tapering ivory-hued thighs and trickling down the valley between her high-set tits. The camera crew were wiping their brows and hands too, looking just as wrung-out as she felt. Eighteen hours of straight shooting for a new film was bound to take a lot out of anybody. And as a performer, one of the rising female movie stars, Candy found she could put more of herself into a character if she completely immersed herself into the role. Although she was now twenty-five, she had never become entirely adjusted to the way her teenage fans ogled her sensual body. It made her uncomfortable, just as did the four-letter words everybody else seemed to use so casually.

"Sometimes I wonder if they're listening, or just looking," she once mused to the agency man assigned to her.

"Honey, it's like the old sign at railroad crossings -'Stop, Look, and Listen,' Jason Wells told her. "They look, and they listen-they break box office records at the theaters in order to see your beautiful face."

"I suppose so," she had conceded, but wishing it didn't have to be that way. She fet like a piece of meat on a rack.

Now, dripping wet from her last scene in the movie, with her thin robe belted around her tiny waist, the sleek brunette entered the studio where the camera crew were wrapping up today's shooting. They caressed her exhausted body and exchanged the meaningless showbiz kisses and she forced herself to endure it all. She knew they meant nothing, but the close contact with male flesh, and the scent of manhood filling her flaring nostrils, excited her and she had to break away.

"Guys, I've had it," she said, feeling the flush of sexual arousal begin to sweep upward through her quaking belly. "Must have some tea-my throat is on fire."

Rick Benton was immediately at her elbow with a thermos of iced tea. He poured a glass and she gratefully drank it, thanking the youth with her deep violet eyes and seeing the shy worship in his own dark eyes. Rick was barely fifteen, a pleasant self-effacing young boy, tall for his age and unmistakably handsome. He had appeared one day from the farms of the midwest and attached himself to the camera crew. He did the unpleasant but necessary tasks, such as carrying the heavy electronic equipment, keeping track of the scripts, bringing coffee, and he never complained if they forgot to pay him. He was happy just to be on the glamorous fringes of show business. He had a guitar which he was learning to play, and his greatest hope was to be a singer himself one day.

"Thank you, Rick," the exhausted brunette movie star said gratefully, favoring him with a smile which showed fine white teeth set in an unbelievably soft oval of sensuous lips. The tea was soothing to her strained throat. Candy Mullender rarely drank anything but tea or coffee or milk or lemonade, and smoked a cigarette only when under stress. She knew that virtually all the actors and actresses she worked with at least smoked marijuana, and many dropped acid or took pills or even heroin or the other hard narcotics, but Candy had never felt the need. They called her square and she shrugged it off, setting her own standards and sticking to them. In ten years struggling up the thorny ladder of show business, she had seen too many people with talent fuck up their heads with dope and alcohol.

It was the same with men. She liked men, liked the way they could make her lushly ripened body feel, arouse every nerve end, fill the aching opening in the cuntal slit with their iron-hard manhood ramming up into the tender pussy-flesh up between her legs. Yet she had surrendered to few, and each time afterward, she had felt empty, with their thick cum seeping from her distended pussy. She had felt used, when what she wanted to feel was that her partner had loved her… if only for a few minutes. Never had she experienced orgasm; and yet she knew she was not frigid. She wanted to make love! She enjoyed it, yet knew there was so much she was missing. Her desire always rose and throbbed like wildfire through her straining young body, and her legs wrapped tightly around the naked heaving ass of her lover while her distended nipples ached from contact with his hairy chest as he panted and thrust his hot pulsating male hardness deep up inside her rejoicing cuntal passage, and it always seemed she was on the brink, but never reached it.

"I've got to shower," she said, grinning, making herself look ten years younger. "I think I smell like I've been building a pyramid!"

"Bet it is a hot little triangle," somebody said, and everybody was laughing lewdly, salaciously, not knowing how it hurt. They liked to needle her, make the blood rush into her cheeks and see the discomfiture in her near-violet eyes. She knew it wasn't done viciously, that they were really just kidding, letting off steam after a very hard day's shooting, but still it made her very uncomfortable, something which she tried unsuccessfully not to show. She fell back on her only line of defense, a false banter with them.

"I'll buy you guys a box of lollipops to suck on," Candy said as she strode from the sound stage, her long, slender legs scissoring. She let her hips roll a bit more than usual, so the smooth white spheres of her enticing ass-cheeks twitched and jiggled. She wanted to get to the shower quickly and cool down, both physically and emotionally. What she really wanted was a long tub bath, but there wouldn't be time. Another hour and she'd be caught in the heavy homebound traffic heading north from the movie studio in Burbank, and that was sheer murder!

Without bothering to snap the lock behind her, Candy breezed into the rooms which the motion picture studio provided for its stars. The layout amounted to a small studio apartment. There was a convertible couch, faced by a pair of low comfortably cushioned chairs. In one corner was an apartment-size refrigerator, and atop it was a three-burner electric stove. To one side was a mini-bar, for which she had no use, except that it held various soft drinks and fruit juices. Off this room was a bathroom-dressing room, almost as large, and it was in that which she was interested at the moment.

With smooth movements of her agile body, the dark-haired actress peeled off the scanty robe and then bent to slide the wispy bikini panties down the smooth, beautifully-formed columns of her legs, stepping gracefully out of her remaining garment. She bound her hair up and covered it with a shower cap, then started the spray, finding a comfortable lukewarm temperature to begin. She wet a thick cake of soap and began to rub it sensuously over the smooth curves of her body. The aroma of it filled her nostrils, making them flare. The cake of soap, with a thick piece of rope tied through its center, had been left behind by one of the male movie stars, and the man-scent of it excited her. She stepped into the stream of water, sighing in relaxation.

Candy began to lather her smooth-fleshed body languidly, realizing the filming had been a good one, and maybe been good enough to get her an Oscar -and make the movie one of the biggest grossing ones in history. That would be nice. Her last one had come close, and might yet make it. She began to sing softly, for herself now, as she cupped the firm, full roundness of her tits and her slender fingers played with the arousing nipples. It always took her a long time to come down from a shooting session. She put so much of herself into every one that she just couldn't snap it off like a light is shut off.