Chapter 6

Layla only got to feel that warm internal bath of Bob's semen once more that night. That is not to say she didn't shake and moan through more orgasms. Quite the contrary. While Bob could only manage a really decent erection one more time that night, there was nothing wrong with his mouth and fingers, and they played over her body like Liberace showing off on TV.

Eventually they slept.

And, of course, eventually ... they woke.

Bob's waking was a little different than Layla's. A lifetime of having to get up, go places and do things, sometimes at very odd times of the morning and night, had resulted in Bob being a morning person. Typically, when he woke, his eyes opened, he sat up, and within fifteen seconds he was out of bed and moving. This morning wasn't really any different, even though he was in a strange house and, therefore, had to alter his usual morning routine.

He hadn't brought a toothbrush, so he simply used some toothpaste on his finger, working it around and getting rid of the odor he knew was there. He looked in the mirror. The pot belly was still there, of course. He tried to suck it in, but it was long past the point where that resembled anything close to flat. He still had his muscle. It hadn't softened and drooped yet. His eyes drifted lower in the mirror.

His penis was pulled in fairly tight, probably because of the coolness of the ambient air after he got out of the warm bed. It looked to be about three inches long, and he was glad she couldn't see it right at this moment. He marveled at the fact that that feisty young filly back there in the bedroom had accepted him as a mate, however fleeting that acceptance was likely to be. Last night had been one of those once in a lifetime moments. He would never forget last night. On cold winter nights, he'd huddle under blankets and relive last night a thousand times.

He thought about rummaging around in the kitchen to see what he could rustle up for breakfast, but then decided not to. Some women are fairly territorial about their kitchens.

Instead, he went back to the bedroom and sat on the edge of the bed, examining the fascinating woman who had tumbled pell mell into his life.

She was beautiful in repose. Her face was so smooth. No wrinkles, either from age or laughter or frowns marred her face. Her nose was a little crooked, but instead of detracting from her beauty, it made her seem more real somehow. As he stared at her he realized how easy it would be to fall head over heels for her. He already had, in some ways. He didn't feel like she was "his," but he felt an astonishingly strong urge to protect her. The last time he'd felt that urge was when he gazed at the sleeping face of his daughter, when she was much younger than Layla was. Like that little girl had been, this big girl seemed much more precious than mere diamonds, or gold, or any amount of money.

He grinned as he remembered what it was like to feel like the bull. He was glad there weren't any younger competing bulls around. He knew he wouldn't fare well in that situation. Yet, the way she had given herself to him the night before was immensely satisfying.

But it wasn't the sex that made him want to never leave her side. He was thinking about what it WAS when her eyes opened and she looked at him.

"You got up," she said. There was plainly accusation in her voice.

"I get up every day," he said, smiling.

"You left me all alone."

"I'm a beast," he admitted.

"You ARE!" she moaned. "Come back to bed."

"You have a little boy to get up, and we have work to go to."

"Do you ever say anything nice to a woman after you almost kill her?"

"I didn't almost kill you," he laughed. "If anything, I'm the one who should be hobbling around, leaning on a cane."

"I need kisses," she pouted.

He leaned down and shut her up by kissing her for the next minute. When he sat back up, her eyes were closed and she was smiling.

"That's much better. Come back to bed."

"I should whip the covers off of you and drag you out of bed," he warned.

"You do and you'll never climb between my lily white thighs again, mister!" Her face was still smooth. She was waking up, though, and beginning to get feisty.

Instead of keeping it going, Bob just stood up, grabbed the clothes he had brought to wear that day, and left the room.

He did feel like he could probably get away with making coffee. He was in the process of pouring the water when she shuffled into the kitchen in big fluffy slippers and a robe. She came to him for a hug.

"Why did you leave?" she complained.

"When a man is threatened like that, he takes things very seriously," said Bob, his voice level.

"I didn't mean it," she complained. "Why do you think I wanted you to come back to bed?"

"To cuddle," he said.

"OK," she admitted. "But what's wrong with that? I like to cuddle with you."

"Cuddling leads to other things," he said.

"Why do you think women like to cuddle so much?" she asked, her face pressed to his chest.

His hands slid down her back to firm, round globes, and he squeezed them.

"That's all the cuddling you get," he said into her hair.

"Not fair!" she moaned into his chest.

"For now," he added. "We have chapter five to do today, you know."

Her head came up, and her eyes were shining.

Ten minutes later she was dressed and getting Aidan up and ready to go, while yelling down the hall to Bob, telling him what to fix for breakfast.

Charles was there when they got there. He looked a little haggard.

"If it's all the same to you two, I'm just going to turn on the recorders and go get some coffee or something."

"You trust us that much?" asked Bob.

"I took what you've done so far home with me," he said. "I did a little editing and threw something together, and played it for my wife."

"And?" Layla looked tense.

"She almost killed me," he sighed.

"She didn't like it?" Layla's face fell.

"Are you kidding?" asked Charles, looking shocked. "You two could probably read Goldilocks and the Three Bears — just as it's written — and with the right editing, make a porn masterpiece. I haven't had that much sex in years."

"Ohhhhh," sighed Layla. "Well congratulations!"

"Anyway, I need coffee, and if I have to listen to you two this morning I might just faint dead away when all the blood goes to my..." He stopped and blushed. "Just do your thing, OK?"

They were already intimately aware of what chapter five was going to be like. Of course, it had been written with them in the setting of petting on the couch in Mr. Wilson's living room. They started by kissing and his hands did the same things they had done before.

Over the course of two pages, she ended up naked, lying back on the couch with one leg up on the back of it and the other hanging off on the floor, while he ate her pussy.

"Megan," Mr. Wilson groaned. "I have to do this."

The text had him crawling up between her legs, with his stiff prick hanging out of his pants.

She tried to object, reminding him she was a virgin, but her hands encouraged him, reaching for his stiff penis and using it to rub her clitty, and it was only a matter of sentences before he started pushing into her.

She was supposed to make sounds of pain ... complaints of being stretched, at first, as he pressed ever inward into her untried sexual slit. Then she was supposed to slowly decide that it didn't hurt as much, eventually deciding that this was the best thing of all as he rutted into her.

Wilson was actually being selfish, satisfying himself, for once, as he ravaged her virgin pussy, but she ended up not caring and loving it.

Of course, in the studio, the problem was there was no couch. There was no place for them to lie down at all, because the microphones wouldn't reach the floor.

"This isn't working," whispered Layla as Bob fingerfucked her, trying to help her be able to say her lines with some real feeling.

"We don't have much choice," he whispered back.

She solved that problem by lifting her skirt and pushing his pants down to his thighs. She spread her legs and made him squat enough to get the tip of his cock into her pussy mouth.

"Stand up," she whispered into his ear.

When he did, she was suspended on his prick. Her legs went around him and her arms went around his neck.

"Ohhhhhhh, I feel so stretched!" she moaned into the microphone.

"You'll get used to it ... I promise," panted Bob.

It was a lot of work to have sex standing up. Bob's back did a little complaining and he wished he could pin her to a wall, just to ease the strain. It lent a bit of authenticity to his groans. Meanwhile, having his prick in her was all she needed to sound like she was being deflowered.

Again, after they were done, and while his spunk was drooling down her thigh, they read through all the lines again, to ensure that the ones they'd missed were there. That they were both still panting made it sound realistic.

After they got paid and left Bob didn't give her a chance to invite him over.

"I've got something I have to do tonight," he said. "See you tomorrow?"

"Ohhhh," she obviously complained. "I guess so."

That was the problem, as Bob thought about things after they went their separate ways. He was liking this too much, and she was too. Their relationship had rocketed ahead in the last few days. He was besotted with this vibrant young woman ... this single woman ... this woman that he wanted to be with for the foreseeable future. And she was exhibiting the same foolish tendencies.

As a fantasy, it was delightful. The idea of being around a fresh, intelligent, young and sexy woman ... a woman who welcomed him between her legs ... that was a terrific fantasy for a man on his way to being over the hill. The lessons he had learned over his lifetime made this immeasurably better than it probably would have been had he met her and they were both the same age. Both of them were benefiting from his learning those lessons.

But as reality, it was a recipe for disaster. He was thirty some odd years older than she was. Eventually the differences between them would rear their ugly heads and the relationship would be strained. It was inevitable ... wasn't it?

And, if that happened, it would devastate him. To lose something as precious as she was ... for it to go bad ... would be like finding out you had cancer and were going to die. Better by far to just nip things in the bud, and have the sweet memories of what they'd shared to warm him on cold nights in the future.

She was young and flexible. That they had been able to make love standing up like that was due more to her athleticism than his own abilities. He wasn't really enough man for her ... or at least she deserved a lot more than he could provide at his age. There were a thousand men her own age who would love to have what she was giving Bob. She'd be fine. And he'd have the memories. He'd get through the next couple of days, acting things out and wallowing in that fantastic emotion she sprayed in every direction. Then he'd go on about his business and leave her to an as yet unidentified man she deserved.

He went home and checked his mail. There was a lot of email to answer, so he took care of that. He worked on a couple of projects, thinking about Layla. It helped his work immensely.

Chapter six involved Bob teaching Megan how to ride a man ... and what it felt like to be taken from behind.

Charles was quite unabashed about how this would affect him too. He'd reviewed what they'd done with chapter five, and had tried using a checklist to simply listen for the needed things and check them off, as opposed to sitting and listening to two people having sex. It was clear by the circles under his eyes that the checklist idea was only partially successful. So, as he had done the day before, he left the recorder running and went and did other things while they laid down the tracks.

Layla had worn a skirt again. As soon as Charles closed the door, Layla wanted a kiss. Bob's hands slid down her back again, this time over cloth, until he got to the backs of her thighs. As he slid them back up, he found those beautiful round butt cheeks still naked.

"Mmmmm," he breathed into her mouth. "You're being naughty again today."

"I've been corrupted by a dirty old man," she said, her lips still touching his. She finished the kiss and pushed him away.

"We have work to do," she said firmly.

"Ride 'em cowgirl," said Bob, grinning.

Since the script called for Megan to sit on Mr. Wilson's lap, while they necked, Layla improvised by having Bob sit on a stool, while she climbed up and straddled him. He didn't think it was going to work, at first, but she was so limber that she could use her feet on the rungs of the stool, even while her thighs were spread. She flipped the microphones on and then read her script over his shoulder. She immediately started grinding her pussy against his lump.

"You're going to stain my pants," he said.

"Don't adlib," she whispered into his ear. Then she licked it.

Bob ignored her.

"Megan, honey, with you sitting on my lap with no panties on, it's going to make a stain."

Layla's next line was supposed to be, "I like sitting on your lap, Bob."

"If you took them off, I wouldn't stain them," she said instead.

Had Charles been in the mixing room, he would have heard the rustle of clothes, and the sound of two shoes being dropped on the floor.

But he wasn't there, of course.

Layla settled back onto Bob's lap. She didn't need to use her feet to hang on this time. She was firmly planted on Bob's hard cock.

They got back on script and, to Bob's amazement, Layla had an orgasm at exactly the same moment that Megan was supposed to have one. When she came down from that, she started using those amazing muscles on him, while she read.

Bob glanced ahead and saw that Bob's orgasm wasn't due for another page. He grinned, stimulated by the challenge of trying to wait, when all he really wanted to do was blast Layla full of love juice.

He almost made it. She was too good, though, and he had to skip a whole paragraph just to be able to say: "Megan ... honey ... I'm cumming."

"I loooove it when you cum in me," Layla murmured, her voice right on the foam cover of the microphone.

Bob was done for a while and they both knew it. Layla simply announced to the person who wasn't listening that they were going to do another take. She flipped back, and they read through all the lines again, this time reading them verbatim. They skipped over the parts where there were moans and groans. Those were already on tape and could be spliced in wherever Charles wanted them.

When they got back from lunch, Charles was there, eating a sandwich. He looked up at them as they came into the sound booth.

"Going back and re-reading the lines was a good idea," he said. "The author has been very understanding about ... um ... straying dialogue, but this gives me so much more to work with."

"You're welcome, Charlie," said Layla, smiling. "We wouldn't have to do that, except that sometimes the emotion of the moment kind of grabs us and..."

Charles held up a hand. "Stop! You're giving me more information than I need ... or want. Just do your thing. I got a CD for my birthday that I haven't had time to listen to yet. You two just do your thing and I'll get caught up on that."

Inside the booth Layla turned to Bob.

"It's like he doesn't like listening to us," she said.

"Sweetie," said Bob patiently. "The only reason I don't go insane is because I get to do something about it. He has to just sit there and listen."

"Oh," she said. "I didn't think about it like that." She looked at him for a few seconds. "Are you revived enough to help me through the next part?"

"I think I know how Charles feels," sighed Bob.

"We only did it once ... this morning," said Layla, pouting.

"You just be careful when I tell you to bend over," said Bob, waving the script at her. "I might have a little surprise for you when you do."

"Surprise," whispered Bob as he slid his prick into Layla's sopping pussy. She was bent over, her feet spread three feet apart, and holding herself up with her hands on a stool. She had pulled her mike boom down so that the mike was right by her mouth.

"Mmmmmm, Bob," she cooed into the mike. "This feels really different. I think I like it this way."

"You feel so good," huffed Bob, into his own microphone, which was suspended over her back.