Enthralled (Dark Passions) (2 page)

  
“Why wouldn’t Bradley just bring you a digital camera?” I asked.

  
Andy looked at me gravely and said, “Bradley may be from the future, but this
is the late seventies, and I’m not going to muck around with things that
haven’t been invented yet. Let’s just say I’m superstitious that way.” His brow
furrowed, and then he added, “And I don’t want to hear anything more about the
future. That’s another rule. Agreed?”

  
“Agreed,” I said, giving him a serious nod. Then I looked at him with curiosity
and asked, “How are you shooting, um,
Blow Job
, or whatever we’re
calling this?”

He
threw back his head in a laugh, and ran his hand through his thick shock of
platinum hair. “16mm film, of course. I’m shooting at 24 frames per second.
When we’re done, I’ll go back to the studio to develop it, then bring it back
here and project it for you.”

  
I could feel the color draining from my face. “That’s a lot of work. How much
exactly is Bradley paying you?”

  
Andy grinned and said, “Let’s just say he’s really making this worth my while.”

  
I shot Bradley a look of alarm. He was once again leaning casually against the
door, his gaze fixed on me, his eyes twinkling. “You’re worth every penny,” he
said, giving me a crooked smile.

  
Andy took his place behind his camera and said, “Okay, kids. Whenever you’re
ready.”

  
Bradley casually straightened himself and slowly slinked towards me, his eyes
devastatingly sexy, and never straying from mine. When he was a few feet away,
he stood still examining me, and I could see the sexual tension building in his
eyes. His look was so intimate, so intense, and my whole body flushed with
desire for him. I could feel my sex tightening into a thick, unbearable knot of
yearning. Then all at once, he lunged at me, and his hands were everywhere;
hungrily stroking my waist, gliding along the curve of my hips, cupping the
back of my thigh. He lifted me into his strong arms and carried me over to the
couch. He tossed me down, and I flopped like a rag doll, then sprawled
helplessly, utterly exposed. As Bradley stood there and his searing gaze
branded every inch of my body as his, my pulse leaped, and I started to pant.
He kneeled down slowly onto the couch, loosened his tie, and licked his upper
lip. Leisurely, he pushed up my lace dress, and then softly, adoringly, stroked
the exposed flesh of my thighs. “I’m going to take off your panties now, Mel,”
he said gruffly, and though his tone was even, I could tell his breathing was
labored. He grabbed the top of my lace panties and tugged. Hard. I heard a
ripping noise, and then saw him toss aside what was left of my underwear.
“Spread your legs, Mel,” he ordered. I let out a ragged breath and then did as
he commanded.

  
“I love looking at you like this,” he said, his voice once again hoarse. “So
exposed. So vulnerable. So beautiful.” I started squirming, and he stilled my
hips. Then I remembered Andy Warhol was in the room and I shot a petrified look
towards the camera.

  
“I’m only filming your face, Melanie,” he said. “Just your face.” At his words,
my initial jolt of fear and embarrassment was replaced with a delicious thrill.
I was being filmed. By Andy Warhol. While the hottest man on earth went down on
me. It was as though my pleasure, my desire, my face was so riveting that I
just had to be watched, had to be filmed; my most intimate self was being
glorified and immortalized. An odd, yet thrilling self-consciousness crept in,
and as Bradley started kissing the inside of my thigh, gently stroking every
inch of my skin with his lips, I let out an exaggerated moan. I felt Bradley’s
muffled chuckle against my inner thigh.

  
He lifted his head up from between my legs and said, “That was very theatrical,
Mel. I’m so glad you’re enjoying putting on a performance. Just keep in mind I
know all of the little sounds you make, and I can tell an unselfconscious moan
from one staged for the camera.”   

  
I let out a little gasp of recognition. Knowing he was so aware of me, paid so
close attention to me, made me feel both so exposed and so important. The knot
of desire between my legs tightened unbearably, and a little tremor shook
through my spread legs. Bradley smiled up at me, and stroked the lips of my sex
with his fingertip. I whimpered in response. “Now that’s a sound I know well,”
he said, his voice full of delight. Then his head plunged down and I felt his
hot mouth against my aching clit, kissing it with his lips, fluttering along it
with his tongue, first slowly, then faster. As he stroked gently, then harder,
then gently again, letting the tension and hunger build, then dissipate, then
build again, my hands fisted in his hair, and I started writhing madly, in
sweet agony over my need for release. “Please,” I whimpered, my voice raspy.

  
“Please what, Melanie?” he asked. “What is it that you want?”

  
I groaned and lifted my hips back towards his face. He pressed me back down,
and nailed me with his scorching gaze. “Tell me what you want,” he ordered.

  
I stared down at him, my breathing labored, my hips still trying to squirm in
his firm grasp. “I want to come,” I managed to say. “Please make me come,” I
added shamelessly. Bradley smiled in victory, then slowly, leisurely kissed his
way down my stomach to my sex. With his nose in my pubic hair, he inhaled
deeply.

  
“I love your smell,” he said. “So hot and musky,” he added and inhaled again. I
started writhing, moaning in frustration, and then felt his tongue back on my
clit, stroking it, teasing it at first, then sweeping it with a steadily building
rhythm. With each expert caress of his tongue, my panting grew stronger and
louder, my fists in his hair clenched more tightly, until finally the pulsing
knot of pleasure, expanding and contracting with increasing intensity, burst
into a million shards of ecstasy and I cried out long and hard, thrusting my hips
with abandon. As I collapsed back on the couch, sweat trickling down my
forehead, my flesh flushed and sensitive, Bradley ran his fingers all over my
stomach and thighs, making me tingle and shiver all over.   

  
“And cut.” I jumped at the sound of Andy Warhol’s voice. As intensely aware as
I’d been of his presence in the beginning, I completely forgot he was there
when I abandoned myself to pleasure. Bradley ran his fingers once more along my
thighs, eyeing the exposed flesh voraciously, then yanked my dress back down
and lifted me up into his arms. He traced my lower lip again with his thumb,
and then gave me a long, lingering kiss. “That’s sweet,” Andy said, his tone
genuine. “And you’ve been a lovely, interesting subject to film, Melanie. I’m
sure Bradley will be happy with the results.”

  
“I have no doubt,” Bradley said, stroking my hair, rubbing my back.

  
“Anyway,” Andy said, adjusting his spectacles, and placing a hand on his hip.
“I’m heading over to the Factory now to develop this. I’ll be back in a few
hours to set up the projector so you two can watch the results.”

  
I gave Bradley a questioning look. “You mean we’re going to watch this thing
together?” I asked, horror in my voice. “I don’t think I can bear to see myself
like that. I can barely stand the way I sound on an answering machine. This is
going to have me cringing and writhing in embarrassment.”

  
Bradley took my chin firmly in his grip, and nailed me with a brooding look.  “You’re
a beautiful, sensual woman, Melanie. And I’m not going to let you hide from
yourself. You’re going to truly see yourself in this film. We’re going to see
this most intimate part of you together. We’re going to share it, Melanie.”

  
“I can’t,” I said softly, averting my gaze. He cupped my chin again and turned
my head until I was once again facing him.

  
“You can,” he said. “And you will.”

***

  
“Well, kids, it’s all set up,” Andy said, smiling at us brightly. Bradley and I
were curled up on the red couch, facing the screen two of Andy’s superstars had
fixed to the wall. The silver lace curtains over the bay window had been drawn,
leaving the room lit with only a dim, dusky light.

  
“Just press this button right here, and the film will start,” Andy added. He
adjusted his spectacles, took a long look at us, and sighed. “You two are
absolutely adorable.” Then he turned his gaze to Bradley and said, “I know you
two are going to the Bowie concert, but there’s a party happening at Studio 54
tonight, and I’d love it if you both came.”

  
“Bowie?
And
Studio 54?” I asked, my voice full of excitement.

  
Andy laughed at my exuberance. “Yes, doll. And I expect to see both of you at
the club after the concert. You’ll have the time of your life.”

  
“We’ll be there,” Bradley said, stroking my arm.

 
 “Anyway,” Andy said, “I’ll leave you to it.” He winked at us, turned around,
and disappeared through the door, closing it behind him.

  
Bradley stood up, flicked the switch Andy had indicated, and the film stuttered
to life on the screen. He sat back down, and pulled me close. As soon as my
face appeared, his eyes were riveted to the screen. And so were mine. I
couldn’t believe the expression on my face when Bradley commanded me to spread
my legs. The look I gave him was one of desire mingled with surrender and awe.
My eyes were glazed, my lips were parted, and you could hear me panting.

  
Bradley groaned. “God, look at you. You’re so beautiful, so needy, so full of
anticipation.” He placed a warm hand on my thigh and stroked it. “So shameless
in your desire.”

  
I was cringing at seeing myself this way, so vulnerable and out of control, but
I couldn’t look away. I watched in utter fascination as I started writhing,
biting my lip, panting harder. My eyes were closed, and I was squirming and
moaning and sighing. The initial theatrics Bradley had called me on had lasted
only for a brief moment, and then the mask came off, and I lost all inhibition,
all self-consciousness, as I got so utterly, so shamelessly lost in the pleasure
Bradley was giving me.

 
 As he watched me beg him to get me off, Bradley grunted loudly and grabbed my
hand, placing it in his lap. My breath caught in my throat at the feel of his
hard cock against my hand. “See what you do to me, Mel?” he asked. “The sight
of you, so hungry for release, so absorbed in your pleasure, writhing with wild
abandon, is what gets me this hard. Your pleasure is like a drug to me. When
you beg for me, writhe for me, my cock gets so hard I can’t stand it.”  

  
His words sent a delicious thrill coursing through me blood. Aroused by the
intoxicating effect my desire had on him, I gave him a sly smile and started
stroking his cock. He groaned again and pulled me onto his lap. He started
pulling up my dress, but I still his hands. “No,” I said. “This time is about
you. I want to get you off.” I kneeled across his lap, and started undoing his
tie and shirt. He grabbed my breasts and massaged my nipples. They tightened
instantly, and I let out a small moan.

  
“You’ll have to stop that immediately,” I said. “You’re distracting me.” He
gave me a crooked smile, and shrugged, but continued to play with my nipples. I
let out another moan, and he cupped one of my nipples with his mouth through my
lace dress. The heat from his mouth, and the circular movement of his tongue,
sent a surge of pleasure coursing through every nerve of my body. My back
arched, and I let out a long sigh. He grabbed me by the ass, his fingers
sinking into my lace-covered flesh, and pulled me further up his lap so that my
sex was resting against his cock. I started rocking my hips against his lap,
and he let out a ragged sigh. I watched his face, watched his features become
strained with desire, and suddenly felt so powerful, so desirable.
I
had
the power to drive this man crazy. Just like he had the power to make me
completely lose control. I started stroking his cock with my fingers, trailing
them up and down the bulging seam of his crotch. He stared at me fiercely, like
he wanted to devour me. I started unzipping his pants, pulled myself off his
lap, out of his grasp, and kneeled before him on the floor.  

  
Staring into his ravenous eyes, I slowly pulled down his pants and boxers,
leaving him naked from the waist down. In front of me, just begging for my
lips, was his long, hard, delicious cock. I fisted him at the root, stroking up
and down gently, and then took the rest of him in my mouth. The moment my lips brushed
against the head I felt his whole body shudder, and heard him grunt. I let my
tongue slide up and down his length, slowly, then faster. Finally, I took him
in deeper, right into the back of my throat, and he gasped, and his breathing
became labored. “God, Mel, you’re killing me,” he whispered, and then started
thrusting in my mouth with abandon. I kept up a steady rhythm, working him with
my lips and tongue, taking his thick length as deep as it would go. While
working his cock, I gazed up into his face, and our eyes met. His expression
was dark and wild, and his eyes were glazed but euphoric. When he saw me
looking up at him, something in him burst. His breathing became more ragged,
and then he fisted his hands in my hair, and with a few final thrusts, he let
out a long, hoarse groan. Several bursts of his hot, salty cum hit the back of
my throat, and I swallowed all of it greedily. I kept stroking him with my
mouth, licking him, sucking him, until his spasms weakened, then subsided. His
hands relaxed in my hair, and then he pulled me up into his arms. He was still
breathing hard, and I could feel the heat radiating from his body. I started
stroking his chest, and tilted my head up to meet his heated and glimmering
eyes. “You have a very talented mouth,” he said, with a crooked smile. Then,
looking at me in mock desperation, he added, “It’s going to be the end of me.”