Sur La Mer – Dans la Merde

Babes

On the Mediterranean coast and in the shit. Danica and Keren finish recording their latest porn movie and are kidnapped by persons unknown.

This is a follow-up to my recent Sur La Mer story but can be read standalone as it does give the back story as to how we got to this point.

Prologue

I take off my sunglasses and suck ruminatively on the stem, studying my cards. It must be obvious to the rest of the table that I haven’t a clue what I am doing. I am here for one purpose and one purpose alone. As my eyes smoulder into his across the green baize of the card table, he can be under no illusions as to what that purpose is.

I pull on my holder and the tip of the long, black cigarette glows red. Smoke curls up from my pursed lips and he stares at me impassively as he pushes his pile of chips into the centre of the table.

He is all in. We are the only two left. The rest have folded and I may not know much, but I know that I should fold as well. But that would defeat my purpose. I take another drag on the Sobranie and push my much smaller stack into the centre of the table. The croupier shakes her head. It is not enough to match his bet, as I am fully aware.

I clamp the holder between my teeth and open the clasp of my handbag. Gucci, of course. I pull out my room key and hold it up, the number on the long tag obscured behind my hand. A gasp goes up from the others around the table as they realise my intent.

He slowly shakes his head, then points first to the little blonde girl on my left, then to me. She gazes back, barely a flicker of emotion on her pretty face. Smoke curls up from her cigarette, also in a holder and held between gloved fingers. She reaches for the ashtray and stubs it out with a shrug of her shoulders and turns to me with a small nod.

I drop the key along with the chips and wait for the inevitable. The croupier deals and announces that Monsieur is the victor. He gathers the chips in his crooked arm and reels them in. I retrieve my key, this time letting him clearly see the room number.

I stand and smooth down the hem of my orange paisley mini-dress that barely covers my modesty. I take the hand of the blonde girl and she rises, never looking back at the table. I take a final pull on my holder and let out the smoke slowly and provocatively in his direction before turning on my heel. I leave the salon privé, dragging my companion with me.

Up in the room, she lies on the bed, naked other than her long, red opera gloves and short ankle boots. Her blonde head is propped up on a pillow and she stares at the wall, fingers drumming on the bed, more in boredom than anticipation. She picks up her trilby hat and pops it on her short, fluffy blonde locks at a jaunty angle. She looks good enough to eat.

I sit on a high-backed chair alongside the bed and wait. There is a single rap on the door and the blonde girl barely looks up. I walk to the door and open it, turning away before I can even register his presence. I step back into the room and raise my hemline. A wet trickle runs down the inside of my thigh and I let him see it, running my finger along it and putting it to my lips. I beckon him into the room and point to the chair.

As I slide onto the bed, he removes his tuxedo jacket and puts it on the chair back. He sits and loosens his bow tie as I take the blonde girl by her left ankle and pull her leg towards me. She stretches her right leg over the edge of the bed and hooks her booted foot against the side of the mattress.

For the next ten minutes we open our full box of tricks and proceed to turn each other inside out, barely making a sound. I leave my dress and my own knee-length, patent leather boots on. All part of the tease.

When I think he is ready – and when the blonde girl and I are utterly gagging for it – I roll over and beckon him forward with a crooked finger.

He rises slowly and takes two confident steps towards the bed, unbuttoning his white dress shirt.

Then his foot catches on the thick rug at the bedside and he inelegantly stumbles forward onto the bed in an undignified face-plant, swearing under his breath.

The blonde girl begins to shake in my arms and is soon giggling like a schoolgirl. She sets me off and I start to laugh. Little squeaks emanate from behind her hand as she covers her mouth and a tear runs down her cheek. Her mascara is already running.

The director puts down her camera and shakes her head. She is laughing too. “You had one job, Francois. One… fucking… job!”

Smiling ruefully, he raises his handsome head. “Sorry ladies, my bad!”

The second camera operator is already on her knees to get a different angle on his arrival. She too is shaking with laughter.

The producer, leaning against the wall, pulls on her cigarette and rolls her eyes. “Ok guys, let’s take five shall we. I think these three are going to need a moment and a little repair work is necessary for the two gigglers.”

The ankara evi olan escortlar blonde girl smacks Francois playfully on his head. “Naughty man – Danni is horny.”

I kiss her snub nose. “It will be all the better for the wait, babe. Come on, let Leonie work her magic.”

Leonie, the second camerawoman, is also the make-up girl. We are back in the game in no time and the director counts us down.

Francois gets up from his chair once more, and this time he doesn’t take his pratfall.

This time he gets it right.

Oh fuck, does he get it right?

One

It was late when we got back to the apartment and we were tired but happy. It was always a long day when we were shooting, but we loved every minute of it.

Danica slumped down at the kitchen table while I poured some well-earned wine. “You were brilliant today babe. You looked so good in those sixties-style clothes.”

She touched her glass to mine. “So did you. It was a great storyboard. Glad you got to see it through at last!”

It had taken a while to come to fruition after I first envisaged it, soon after I met Vanessa deLaunay, the enigmatic and mysterious woman who was now our boss and mentor.

I took Danica’s hand. “Thanks for being my little dolly-bird. You were amazing.”

She scowled. “Just don’t ask me to smoke again.”

“Erm, you didn’t technically smoke, Danni. You just held it very sexily – in a gloved hand and a holder, I might add.”

“Yuckity yuck. Looks great and sexy when you do it on screen, but Danni no likey. All smelly, smoky, yucky.”

We had recorded her reaction scenes separately in one hit, with Vanessa, our producer, smoking the cigarette down before Danni held it so that it matched mine for continuity. With Vanessa, attention to detail was important, even in a porn movie.

We had also recorded some establishing shots of us lounging around the pool area, sipping martinis, me smoking and giving guys the eye, before alighting on the man who would be our willing victim. We were shown getting a facial of a more genteel kind, cucumber slices on our eyes. There was even a brief section of us in an old Alpine A110, the top open, driving along the coast road. Sunglasses on, we were laughing, our scarves trailing in the breeze. Two ditzy little socialites on their way to gamble away daddy’s money before getting fucked silly by a handsome, well-endowed man. The car had belonged to Vanessa’s late husband Pierre and she kept his small collection in pristine condition. It was hell to drive, but the thought of piloting such a rare car was a turn-on in itself. The sequence looked great and added to the sixties vibe.

From the first wisp of smoke escaping my lips to the last dribble of cum sliding from them into Danica’s open mouth, we knew we had a winner. The first viewing of the footage from Roxie’s main camera was incendiary enough on its own and we couldn’t wait to see the other scenes inserted, along with Leonie’s second camera.

Roxie had chosen a psychedelic sixties soundtrack with some cheesy accordion passages for our reaction shots. We decided to include Francois’ stumble over the closing credits as a blooper reel, along with some of Danica’s hilarious over-reactions to having the cigarette close to her.

It was her first onscreen anal and she was buzzing. I had always struggled with deep-throating, she with her back passage, but we had worked at it on our own with dildoes and strap-ons, along with a few Internet ‘how-tos’ and were both now fully versed in those gentle arts.

I had first met Danica soon after arriving in the south of France for a holiday with my friend Tasha. It was a getaway for some sun, sand and sex between the end of the holiday season in Cornwall and the madness of the Christmas period. Ten weeks away from our mundane waitressing jobs in a Newquay hotel, letting others look after us for a while.

We certainly got plenty of the three ‘S’ words we were in search of, but it was soon apparent our limited finances were not going to stretch to ten weeks. When the money ran out, we applied for jobs at an upmarket hotel as a means of prolonging our fun. We had the relevant experience and the required language skills. I got a job and Tasha didn’t. She begged me to stay and have fun, then returned home saying she would see me at Christmas.

For various reasons, I didn’t make it back. I had only been home once in the past two years and that was for her wedding some six months earlier.

In those two years, things had changed somewhat.

Tasha Trevelyan was now Natasha Dubois, married to Richard, a French sommelier in Devon and graced with sweet little twin girls, Sophie and Elodie.

The girl who stayed in France, her friend Keren Morwenna Green, was now an upcoming porn star with a Ukrainian girlfriend called Danica Maria Antonova.

Danica was my roommate in the staff quarters at the hotel. We got on well and I liked her bubbly, fun-loving elvankent olgun escortlar character and her husky Eastern European accent. Her English was almost flawless. One night, when I thought she was on night duty, I brought back a cocktail waiter called Robert for a bit of fun.

I was just about to straddle him when the room door opened and I discovered Danica was not on night duty. Instead of running a mile, she politely invited herself to join us – to Robert’s delight and my horror.

She came on to me as I rode him, having long been bi-curious. Despite my best attempts to dissuade her and tell myself it was wrong, it just felt so right. It was a revelation and thereafter, we were inseparable.

At least we were until she got a job down the coast at an exclusive bolt-hole for the well-heeled – a small island resort on the Cote d’Azur called Sur la Mer – literally ‘On the Sea.’

I was devastated when she left, but four months later, I was alongside her once more as she wangled me an interview and somehow I was accepted.

It was hard work, but the idyllic surroundings and the view back over the short causeway to the shore and the distant Alpes Maritimes made it all worthwhile. We were soon back to our old ways and days in Nice and Monte Carlo were a reward for our labours.

I had been at Sur la Mer three weeks when I met the woman that would change my life forever. I was on room service and delivered a bottle of champagne to a villa occupied by a thirty-something English lady with a dark, brooding, sexual beauty. She was flirty and fun and made sure I was under no illusions that she was very interested in sex, and very interested in sex with me.

The third time I met her, it was at the end of my shift. She invited me to stay for a glass of champagne. I left three hours later a different person. Vanessa had promised that if I chose, she could introduce me to a life I could hitherto only dream of. There would be no coercion – it was purely consensual and no-one was forced into anything.

At the time, I thought she was merely a rich guest and I wanted to believe her. She had said the same things to Danica and she was of the same mind as me.

In the end, we both committed to her and said we would give it our all.

She was good on her word and the night we made our first porn movie in a spectacular rooftop suite atSur la Mer, she told us the truth.

She acted like she owned the place because she did own the place.

It became hers when her husband Pierre met his untimely end in a powerboat tragedy some twelve years previously and she now used her idyllic home as a recruitment centre for her main interest in life – sex.

Since then, Danica and I had made almost fifty features between us and had done many live shows for rich clients who like that sort of thing. Parties on Vanessa’s yacht in Monaco were now commonplace for us and when we were not making movies, we did escort work and were wined, dined and fucked for obscene amounts of money.

We were living the dream and sometimes had to pinch ourselves to believe our luck.

Soon after I met Vanessa, I couldn’t shake an image of her that formed in my head. She smoked black French cigarettes in a holder and with her brooding sexuality, I often imagined her smouldering across a roulette table, smoke curling from her lips as she eyed up James Bond. When I was more confident in my work, I mentioned it to her in the hope that she would come out of retirement. She had made a number of movies back in the day but was now firmly behind the scenes.

I was hoping to be the empty-headed dolly-bird that would assist her in her seduction. She loved the idea and the sixties feel I was trying to evoke but refused to go back in front of the camera.

She had such a sexy, almost arrogant upper-class English drawl. “You do it, Keren darling. You smoke so sexily and lovely little Danica can be your ingenue. I’ll get on to Roxie and Leonie in the morning and we’ll rustle up a nice stud for you two sweeties to ravish.”

As Danica said, it had taken a while to get there, but it had been all worthwhile. I looked across the table at her, unable to believe my luck that I loved this vivacious little bundle of joy and she loved me.

Her head drooped. “Danni sleepy.” She drained her wineglass and we got up from the table.

It was a given that she was sleepy. I had never known anyone who could crash out at the drop of a hat like she did. I knew what was coming next. It was our nightly mantra. She reached up and put her arms around me.

“Danni sleepy, but she’s got something left in the tank for lovely Greenie. Lovely Greenie got something left for little Danni?” If she had not had sex already that day – an admittedly rare occurrence – she would be ‘poor little Danni.’

My response was as ever. I kissed her little snub nose. “Always, Danni – always.”

I led her towards the bedroom and we both stopped in our etimesgut sarışın escortlar tracks at a sharp rap on the apartment door.

Looking at her watch, she set off down the hall. “Bit late!”

It was very late and alarm bells began to ring. “Leave it babe.”

She looked back over her shoulder. “Might be old Monsieur Blanchard next door. His wife is not well at the moment. Best check.” Her eye went to the spy hole. “No-one there!”

Before I could react, she opened the door and looked out. I had a bad feeling and was about to tell her to come back in when she froze as a shadowy figure stepped into view. I heard a little gasp, then she crumpled into his outstretched arms. My blood ran cold as he gently lowered her to the floor and stepped over her prone body.

I tried to scream as he walked down the hall towards me, but nothing came out. I assumed it was a ‘he’ by the size of him, but he wore a shapeless boiler suit and a truly terrifying clown mask. I hate clowns with a passion and almost fainted at the sight of the leering face surrounded by a messy halo of red hair.

He took something from his belt and held his arm towards me as I stood, backed up against the doorpost and frozen to the spot in fear. For a split second I thought he was going to shoot me. He did, but it was with a spray gun and not bullets. A fleeting sting in my eyes and nose was accompanied by an acrid taste and smell. I was vaguely aware of my knees buckling, but I didn’t know then whether I hit the floor or he caught me as he had Danica.

Two

My dreams were vivid but very bad. We were being thrown into a van, bouncing uncomfortably. Someone stood over me as though they were doing face-painting. I dreamed of Danica painted like a cute little fox, she telling me I was a rabbit. I also dreamed of being sprayed in the face again.

I woke with stinging eyes and nose but mercifully no headache. For a moment, I wondered why I was sitting up in bed then reality crashed in and I began to tremble.

I was in a dimly-lit room, sitting in a chair and I was secured to it, hand and foot. Danica and I had begun to use restraints in our sessions and I had used them enough in my fledgling porn career to know that the Velcro ties around my wrists and ankles meant I was going nowhere. It didn’t stop me having a futile tug at them, but I soon gave up.

I was relieved to see Danica, sitting a few feet away in a chair opposite mine, her head lolling on her chest. Thick industrial tape covered her mouth and also prevented me from calling out her name properly. I could move my fingers and head but that was my limit.

It took me four goes to get her to wake up, her name muffled to two inarticulate syllables by the tape. I increased the volume each time as my panic grew when she didn’t awaken.

Finally, she stirred. There was a little dribble of saliva on her red t-shirt and she looked around for a moment before letting out a long moan into her gag as it was her turn to recall our harrowing abduction by persons as-yet unknown.

We had become adept at communicating with our eyes when on camera, so I immediately understood when she rolled her eyes around the room and shrugged her shoulders.

I shook my head to indicate I had no idea either. Her response was to blink her eyes slowly, twice. I came back with three blinks. Her blinks said, ‘love you.’ Mine said, ‘love you too.’ A tear ran down her cheek and I longed to be able to hold her in my arms and tell her everything was going to be alright, even if I didn’t believe that myself.

We sat for a few minutes in the semi-dark wondering what on earth was happening, then both cried out as the room was filled with sound. It took a moment to realise it was a cell phone dialling out.

If Danica was wide-eyed with fear before, when the phone was answered her eyes nearly popped out of her head as we both recognised the voice.

“This is a private number known to only a few. Who are you and what do you want?”

There was a brief pause then a metallic click and a sound like static. The voice we heard next filled both of us with utter dread and fear. It was harsh, metallic and clearly modulated somehow. I had heard things like it on drama shows and now I was part of it. I almost voided my bladder in fear.

It was a flat, monotone and made my skin crawl. “Vanessa deLaunay, please listen carefully. You have something that belongs to me and I want it back. I have asked nicely many times and you have refused to listen to me. Now the gloves are off as I have a bargaining chip of my own.”

Danica and I stared at each other in disbelief as the grating monotone went on. “I have something you will want back, so let us make an arrangement and we can all walk away happy.”

Vanessa’s response was filled with fury. “You have nothing I need or want, you lying, thieving chancer. I have told you before, I am not letting you scam me and I have no intention of listening any further, please do not-“

The voice cut her off. “If you end this call, you and two young girls will regret your decision for the rest of your lives. You may have longer to live with the regret than they do. I am about to send you images that will make you see sense. Please take a moment to reconsider.”

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