Pamela Anderson - Star Struck

“If you tell.”

“Fuck you.”

Laughing, she grabbed some hand cream from the bedside table and slathered it onto her hands and his erection. Mercilessly she began again, stroking and stroking until his balls tightened and he neared the brink. Abruptly she stopped and let him subside. As his orgasm faded she resumed her tease, stroking, sucking, and riding him near to orgasm. Again and again she played, always stopping just before he finished, until he was screaming and begging for release.

“Please, please, now,” he pleaded as she rode him once more to the edge.

“Will you tell?” she asked, slowing down and letting him subside again.

“No, fuck you!” he spat.

“Okay, then,” she said, climbing off. She spotted the video camera on the coffee table and brought it back with her. “Smile for the camera,” she said, straddling him once more. She taped the two of them as best she could from her position astride him. She was driving him slowly mad, and enjoying every minute of it.

“I’ll do it, I’ll do it, I’ll do anything, just don’t fucking stop!” he screamed as she brought him to the brink once more.

“How can I believe you?” she asked, turning to film his answer.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I give you my word.”

“I must have tied you up for a reason,” she said. “I’m not sure about your word. Tell me something that I can use against you if you go back on your promise. Something nobody else knows.”

“I was involved in a hit-and-run accident a couple of years back.”

“You’re a rock star,” she scoffed. “That’s like a rite of passage. What else?”

“I used to pay for studio time by screwing the woman who ran the recording studio.”

“You’ve probably been bragging about that one for years,” she said dismissively, picking up the pace and riding him harder. “Tell me real secrets.”

“I used to take tap and ballet classes in high school,” he blurted out, desperate. “And I was really good. My mom has recital pictures in her living room.”

“That’s the stuff,” she said, bearing down. She had managed to get herself off a few times in the process, but managed to score one more off of her captive before he lost it and erupted, screaming and writhing in his relief.

She fell to one side and they lay panting next to each other for a bit.

“You raped me,” he said.

“Raped you? Me?” she said, rewinding the tape and playing it back for him in the viewfinder.

“Please, please, now,” his voice rang out. “Oh fuck yeah.”

“Yeah, you sound like a rape victim,” she said, giving him a swat. “Now, tell me the story.

The trip to Cabo had seemed like the perfect escape. Between her simultaneous shooting schedules for Hammer Time and Lifeguards, Inc., her public appearances to promote both shows, and keeping the investors happy at her nightclub, Ka Mano, while juggling a personal life that included dating both Rufus and Mando, Star was, as she liked to say, “blowing the candle at both ends.” In her spare time, she was also building a reputation as a photographer’s model. Star’s gatefold debut in Mann magazine had provided the bare essentials to start her modeling career. While she had added clothes to her modeling with some success, “less is more” best described her career, much to her mom’s chagrin.

The trip to Cabo had come to Star through her friend and mentor, Jayne. A designer-label suntan-lotion company had come to Mann for models. And once again, Jayne’s position as the magazine’s executive editor and Star’s dear friend had been a godsend to Star. As usual, Star’s manager had arranged things and taken the credit along with his percentage, but it was her old friend who’d not only hooked her up but pushed her to take the assignment.

And so Star headed south of the border, as much for the promise of a vacation as the work.

It was a promise kept. Each day she spent a few hours shooting with a group of other models. She was the centerpiece of the promotion, but the whole shoot didn’t rest on her. After hours—aka early afternoon—she was free to while away her time at the fashionable seaside resort, where she had been put up in the top-floor El Presidente suite.

The water was brisk, refreshing, and as blue as she’d ever seen.

The hotel, perched atop steep cliffs above the Pacific, looked as if it had been bleached white in the sun, in sharp contrast to the lush tropical plants and flowers that grew like weeds.

Star’s rooms at the Cabo Ritz were party headquarters for the crew and models. It was off-season and the town had turned back into a sleepy fishing village where there was little to do, so they made their own fun.

There was some nightlife, though it was pitched primarily to the spring-break crowd and the sort of lowlifes who’d want to spend the evening at such dissolute debaucheries, and Star couldn’t figure out why no one in the cast or crew seemed interested.

So, when the phone rang during yet another afternoon nap, more than anything she’d actually thought it was going to be the production manager, the only person who’d actually called the room since her arrival.

“Star?”

“Yeah.”

“I was hoping it would be you.”

“Who were you expecting?”

“You got no idea how many Estrellitas I’ve talked to in the last twelve hours.”

“What?”

“It means ‘little star.’”

“Who is this?”

“Let me give you a hint,” he said, clearing his throat and singing. “Oh, my penis has a first name, it’s L-A-R-G-E—”

She hung up.

The phone rang again.

“Goddamn it!” she screamed into the phone. “How did you get this number? I told you I’d see you when I got back from the shoot—”

“Miss Leigh?” the production manager asked tentatively, interrupting her tirade. “Is everything all right?”

“Oh, Herb, I’m sorry, I…” Star trailed off, embarrassed. “I thought you were someone else.”

“Jeez, who’s been calling your room?”

“Doesn’t matter,” Star said, laughing it off. “I think he got the message. What’s up?”

They had a brief conversation about the schedule for her last day of shooting.

“Okay, I’ll see you in the morning,” Star said. “Adidas.”

“Adios.” Herb laughed as he hung up.

The phone rang again almost immediately, and she naturally assumed it was Herb.

“What did you forget?” she answered.

“Are you having a bad day?”

“Am I?” Star said, a warning in her voice. “Maybe I’m just confused, but I was sure we’d agreed that I would go out with you when I got back to L.A. and that you wouldn’t bug me before I got back.”

“Well, that was before this bad mood,” Jimi explained reasonably. “Me and some of the boys just happened to be in Cabo—and not a minute too soon, it sounds like. So, if you’d just tell me your room number, we’ll come right on up and get started on cheering you up.”

“Here?” Star demanded. “You’re here?”

“Well, the call’s not coming from inside the house, but—”

She hung up.

Almost immediately, the phone began to ring again.

She stared at it.

She wondered how he could dial that fast.

It kept ringing.

She put it in the drawer of her bedside table.

It rang and rang and rang.

“What?” she said, snatching open the drawer and answering it at last.

“What’s your room number. I can be there in—”

“Oh, no,” Star said, curious but wary. “How did you find me?”

“Well, you told me you were going to Cabo,” Jimi snorted. “And the rest was easy. I just called every hotel until I found you.”