Out of Work and in My Pants at The Donavan House by Bryce Denison Copyright February 2008 Clara, an out of work television star resorts to unscrupulous measures in order to survive the Hollywood writer's strike. While reaping the benefits of The Donavan House's charity outreach program her caregiver fucks her hard against a tree. ************************************ Audience recognition is an actor's prerogative. Yet in this case the person I am performing for has no idea I am acting. I want to keep it that way. "Be kind. Be kind, be patient, be kind," I chirp for the tenth time that morning. I am an out of work TV actor playing my first paying role since the Hollywood writer's strike began. I am not being paid in cash and flashy promo items; rather in room, three square meals and a caring environment three full days a week. Something I desperately need. I am on my last nickel and there is no end to the strike in sight. If I have to play the part of a 'special needs' person in order to survive so be it. After all I didn't choose to be an actor, I was born this way. "Be kind." I sputter again, then decide my tirade on kindness is over for the moment. I turn to look at my caregiver and give him a big toothy grin. I stick my chin out and tilt my head up to the sky for added effect. "Yes Esther kindness is what makes the world go around," PJ nods his head and smiles encouragingly at me. PJ is the name of the kid that is looking after me today. He is my favorite out of those who 'care' for me every Monday, Tuesday and Friday. PJ is a kind-hearted, gentle guy and to top it all off he is sexy as hell. He is his early twenties, tall, with a charming smile, open honest eyes and big hands. He is studying hard in pre med and still makes time to volunteer here at Donavan House. Standing on the path I look back up at the house, a mansion overlooking a leafy canyon. If you need a 'location' for a nut house for rich folks, The Donavan House is it. I am not here through family connections. I got access through their charity outreach program. I was chosen out of a dozen special needs applicants as the poor person most suited for their care. Basically through my superior acting talents, I nailed the 'audition.' PJ walks beside me slowly as I continue down the path to the creek. It is a fifteen minute walk to the canyon floor. Every now and then I swat at imaginary flies in front of me. "Flies ain't kind, flies ain't kind, boys ain't kind neither." I snort loudly, giggle like a spaz, then slap PJ on the back and walk a little faster. Damn I am good! This is some of the best acting I have done, ever. Finally I have broken free from being typecasted and no one but me to appreciate it. Ah such is life. As a child I played the cute yet untrustworhty kid. In my teens I was casted as a sexually precocious corruptor of baby faced leads. My fate was sealed in my early twenties when I starred for four years on "Avalon High". I was Cynthia the trouble making slut who cascaded misery upon the heads of the 'in' girls, generally through seducing their pecker headed boyfriends. What a relief to be here at The Donavan House where I can really push the limits of my acting talents without any judgement. "PJ how big is your DJ? How big is your DJ PJ?" I chortle aloud then turn and face him. "I like DJs PJ. I saw a DJ once. He was really good. He was BIG. He played 16 songs and I drank eight cokes. That is a soda every two songs PJ. I like big DJs PJ." My hair is always combed forward in long bangs but I felt it was the appropriate moment to push it back so he good see my eyes. "Is your DJ big PJ?" I turn quickly and resume trundling down the path. I look down toward the creek then turn quickly to look at PJ as he approaches. "Actually Esther my DJ is big, it is very big. It is about 10 songs long and one soda can wide." He replies. His caring demeanour changing to a leering smile before my blinking eyes. While playing Esther I tend to lapse into blinking fits for added effect. PJ? His words shock me. This is my third week with him and he has always rebuffed any of my suggestive outburst with a gentle nod and a calm reassuring voice. He has never said anything remotely naughty nor had he ever looked at me in this way. "I like music, music PJ, I like music." I say with stupid looking eagerness. He is giving me the horny vibe and it is weirding me out. I need to put this performance back on track. I am concerned. If acting like an idiot savant with Tourrette's syndrome is making him horny, so help his hormones if he knew what was under my poncho. One of the perks of this role is that I can dress like a total moron. Imagine how easy life is when you all you need to do each morning is throw on rugby pants, light halter top and a large shawl that looks like a poncho; then comb your hair forward and head out the door wearing woolly socks and comfortable cork soled sandals. Today I had wrapped a blue and pink gossamer scarf nicked from the set, over my head and secured it with a fat knot under my chin. The only down side to this type of get up is that my body work goes to waste. I say body work as my craft requires that I go to the gym everyday, that along with my 'incredible' pair of tits that cost nearly ten thousand dollars. An investment I consider worthwhile. My agent told me that my figure was the deciding factor in locking down my current job. I play the role of Cassy, a cockteasing bitch on a cable TV series "Mitchum 92". That was up until the writer's strike started. Mitchum 92 has over a million five weekly viewers but the staff here at Donavan House would not know me.They are far too well rounded, hard working and caring to have time to watch such meaningless crap. Albeit that crap supported my carefree LA lifestyle quite nicely. If my body needs to be toned and my tits big so I can make ten grand every two weeks, so be it. But during the writer's strike I had stopped going to the gym. I am happy to wear this heavy poncho with Burgundy coloured rugby pants 'get up' since my body is going to the dogs. PJ is looking around to make sure that no one is watching us. Then he grabs my wrist and pulls me toward a tree. "PJ ain't nice. Like white rice he ain't nice." I squawk. At times I imagine Esther to be a parrot with Tourette's syndrome. And at times I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from cracking up. "You ain't nice PJ, like white rice you sure ain't nice." I stammer again. He is gripping my upper arm hard enough to bruise me. He spins me around and holds my wrist high up against the tree trunk with one strong hand while the other feels under my poncho for my rugby pants. I had pulled the string waist band tight above my hips, so his attempts to wiggle in and grope my ass are stifled. Then PJ find the string and unties my waist with ease. I should have triple knotted it like any other self respecting mentally retarded person would have. I make a mental note of that, even in distress I am always looking at ways to improve the authenticity of my character. PJ's hand is now aggressively groping my bare ass. He holds and squeezes my buns then probes for my pussy. 'Bingo' two of his digits found their mark in the folds of my moist quim. You may find it appalling that I accept PJ sexual assault on me without resistance. But the TV roles I play generally cause some type of sexual strife. If not for my character then for those around me. Frankly if I am not being groped or sexually harassed on the set or vice versa, I am not doing my job. "Wet as rain PJ. Wet as rain feel no pain. No pain wet as rain." I stick my ass back against his fingers. PJ doesn't waste time with gentle fingering. He has made his digits rigid and slides into my pussy right to the knuckles - feels like three fingers, though probably only two. Yummy. I haven't had much sex since the writer's strike begun. My freeloading boyfriend split when my finances dried up. That was over four weeks ago. I just stick my ass back more to enjoy PJ's finger bang. Though PJ is being a little to forceful for my liking. "Be kind, be kind," I fall back on my tried and true mantra, "be patient, be KIND." I say clearly with just enough of a slobbering lisp to remain in character. But to no avail. My words simple spur him on and his fingers slam into my cunt mercilessly. No clitoral rub, just pounding. If I let myself slip out of my character I start to feel a bit panicky. I am having a hard time grasping that my gentle caregiver, PJ, is finger fucking the bejesus out of me via the backside. It is so entirely out of his character. "Must be gentle with the temple, PJ GENTLE with my temple." I hope he listens to Esther's pleas as my pussy is starting to hurt. In fact my eyes are watering, but I am not sure if they are my tears or from my character Esther. He is breathing hard. Sweat is on his brow and I can feel my sweat trickling down my back. The morning is heating up. Despite this entirely unexpected nature of my finger fuck, I am becoming completely turned on. Like I said PJ is handsome and normally caring, the epitome of the hunky lovable intern from a hospital TV series. Now his chest is pushed up against my back, he is moaning against me, fingering me without any finesses like some c grade porn star. Satisfied that I won't move my wrists, which are now outstretched above me against the tree trunk, PJ reaches around my front and under my poncho with his other hand, slipping crotchside into my pants. He slides his strong hand over my hairless mound. His fingers tap and probe me. First seeking in their touch, then moving more frantically groping about in shock, searching. He was expecting a hairy bush no doubt, but my poo-nani is completely bare. When you have been waxed enough to become a honorary citizen of Brazil, there comes a point where the hair just doesn't bother growing back. I haven't seen a pube down there in over five years. Staying in character I blurt out, "my eagle is bald, some eagle have feathers, but mine is bald. The President loves Bald Eagles." Satisfied that my words are nutty enough, I move my attention back to my finger bang. PJ has a finger on either side of my stiff clit. With each thrust of his fingers from behind with his right hand, he rubs and flicks my berry with his left. For a molester he sure seems motivated to get me off. Woa he is positively speed bagging my clit and pussy! While the fingertips of his other hand are pushing from behind stroking my soft g spot deep inside and to the top. It is time. I so need this! "Screw it, sounds like do it, PJ." I stammer. "Screw it sounds like do it. Do it. Screw it. Do IT." On cue PJ pulls down my pants and starts unbuckling his. I keep staring straight head at the tree trunk. If I act to knowledgeable about sex, or to 'into' it, my cover could be blown. I think to myself what would Esther do? Study the tree bark. I become aware of its texture and hue, its woody smell. The tinge of dry moss on its ridges. My arbor reverie is broken by the feeling of warm, fleshy and positively huge pressing into my pussy, my lips spread wide around it. Donavan House - a one stop shop for mooching sex deprived actors. Thank you to the staff and a very special thanks to PJ. Now stuff your juicy cock inside me. PJ is hung like a horse! Good thing he isn't wasting his fat rod on a retard. I realize this is a completely crass comment, but to be offended is to know me. With these thoughts swirling around my head. PJ pushes into to me. He spreads me wide. I push my ass back and try and spread my legs but the rugby pants are bunched around my ankles. Since I can't move my legs apart it is harder for me to accommodate his straining rod. I feel like I am being skewered. He has stuffed his enormous cock to the hilt inside me. His fat cockhead pushed against my cervix I feel so frigging full, it is bordering on nuts. And that is exactly what I feel mushed against my quim. PJ fat full nut sack, tense and rubbery against my vulva, my stiff clit must be leaving a dent in them. "Aggh, arrggg," I moan staying in character. But the drool that is dripping from the side of my mouth is not staged. It is real. I am being fucked against this tree, long and hard, to the point of drooling. I can't think straight. It feels so fucking good. I feel that at this very moment I am closest in mindset to the true Esther. My mental brain is on hold so that my physical one can process the amazing sensations of PJ cock and his relentless hammering of my cunt. After one hard thrust he pulls completely out of me with a wet suction sound. I feel the head of his cock being rubbed up down my crack. The ridges of his helmet smear and slide up and down my slick ass. He then pushes against bung hole. Yikes! I want cock in cunt. I do no want that apple sized cockhead anywhere near my ass hole. "In the round makes it brown. The round makes it brown. Round. Brown!" I shake and stammer sandwiched between the tree trunk and PJ's poking member. I repeat this line again several times, hoping to persuade my rutting caregiver to reason. There is no way his cock will fit in my tight ass. And if he tries it I won't be able to stop from screaming holy murder. This caregiving fucker is not listening to his charge. The plum of his cock is poking directly in my ass, my sphincter is rubber-tight just on his tip. Imagine if his entire hammer of a cock is slammed all the way in! Without any lube?! "White rice," I scream, "PJ ain't nice. Like white rice, PJ sure ain't nice, white rice ain't nice oh boy oh boy." I blabber on. He pushes his chin into my neck and slams me against the tree. Thankfully PJ's dick is now pushed downward away from my ass. Breathing heavily, he says menacingly into my ear, "spit on it Esther, spit on it no shit on it, got it? Spit on it, no shit on IT, do you know what I am saying girl?" Talk about Doctor Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, this is not the PJ from Donavan House that I know. Evidently he is wanting me to lube him up. An idiot can figure that one out. No way. "Be a slink use my pink." I plead, my juicy cunt wants more of his rod. "Use my pink, the pink, please PJ pleeeaaase." I wail adjusting my voice to minor tone and fuzzy, just like Esther would. "Shut the fuck up and take my cock in your ass Clara." PJ says in a clear crisp voice. His words stop me cold. He just used my real name. I am stunned. The jig is up he knows who I really am. "My name is Esssther." I say meekly still clinging vainly to the vestige of my character's vocal form of expression. As PJ cock is grinding against my backside and while breathing against the back of my neck, he explains to me, "you tipped me off last Wednesday you idiot. While we on the field trip to the mall, you couldn't help but blurt out 'people screw on Mitchum 92'. As soon as you said it I put it all together." Yes he was right. Last week while we were walking the aisles in Zeller's, me decked out in a fluorescent green and yellow safety vest, I had indeed blurted out repeatedly 'people screw on Mitchum 92' during a nostalgic pique for my postpone TV show. I didn't think he was listening. "You still don't get it do you?" PJ asks me rudely. "Incredible. So you don't have a clue who I am?" I turn my head back to look at him, my tits press against the tree. From the angle I am looking at I don't recognize anyone but PJ. I shake my head, "nooooo," I bleat. "For Chrissakes Clara drop the retard act. I am not surprised though. It is so typical of you to recognize only yourself. It is me, Pith Jensen" He says sounding annoyed. I am completely floored. All along PJ, the hunky pre med volunteer, has been none other than the twenty three year old high school principal on the hit series 'Hospital High.' The networks crown jewel about a group of teenage doctors forced to go back to high school. I can't believe it, he has been scamming me all along. "What the hell?" I ask wide eyed in shock. "Don't act so surprised Clara. Three square meals a day three times a week in return for volunteering at Donavan House? You kiddin' me?," PJ's voice was no longer harsh and aggressive. "An actor needs to eat Clara," he commiserates softly in my ear, resting his hands sympathetically on my shoulders. I am speechless. I can't believe how stupid I have been. For nearly a month I had been in reverence of PJ. He was my dedicated youthful caregiver, a veritable Doogie Howzer MD, when in fact he is just another schmo like me. A desperate thespian in starvation mode due to the clogged cogs of the entertainment industry. All this time I thought I was passing my time doing 'special needs' flirting with an earnest altruist. Not with Pith Jensen, one of the most arrogant boy toy trouble makers Hollywood has spawned. I feel totally chipped. Objectively thinking though he should get an Emmy for his acting. I start to move, to wrest myself out from between Pith and the tree. But he presses himself harder against me. "You still don't get it do you, you free loading bitch? I am a legitimate volunteer here. Unlike you I am not here under false pretenses I came through the front door. PJ after all are my initials. Do you know how much Hollywood shit you are going to be in if word gets out you have been passing yourself off as a retard in order to steal from the system? The tabloids would have a field day. You are money in the bank to them. Nothing riles the masses like stealing from a charity. It is the thresh hold no actor can make a comeback from. You are toast baby." Pith Jensen maps it all out for me clearly, calmly succinctly. "Toast." It is obvious to me only one thing will get me out of my predicament. "Okay I will do as you say. You can fuck my ass, use me as your fuck toy. I will suck you off, give you hand jobs, you can face fuck me, finger me, tongue fuck me, cum deep inside me, on my tits or on my firm buns; I will eat your cum or smear it on my face, basically do whatever you want. In return you say nothing, deal?" I plead huskily, my face turned back to him, one cheek pressed against the tree. With those words he lets up his weight against me and steps back from the tree. "Yes I can live with that." He nods eyebrows raised, a faint smile on his lips. I see now that his cock is back in full boner mode. Looking down I get my first peek at the penis that had been ravaging me. It is more beautiful and virile looking than I had imagined. Shrugging my shoulders I sigh then breath in, a technique I use that helps get me back in to character. I drop to my knees and say in Esther's gentle yet goofy voice, "lube the rod, so it can do its job PJ, lube the rod, do the job" then I commence to suck on his cock. At The Donavan House I will bide my time, three days a week waiting for the writer's strike to end - three square meals, outings, friendly faces and a good hard fucking against a tree every Monday Tuesday and Friday afternoons. When it is over I promise to seek out a role as a special needs character and donate my earnings to this wonderful place. "Be kind, be kind, be patient, be kind..." I say precum smeared all over my lips and chin. "Yes Esther, kindness makes the world go around," PJ comments softly back in character. THE END "Out of Work And In My Pants at The Donavan House" Copyright February 2008 Bryce Denison Any comments just email me: my_time259@yahoo.ca