The Adventures of Amanda Lust
Chapter 1: Strangers When We Meet

Caution: This Action/Adventure Sex Story contains strong sexual content, including Ma/Fa, Consensual, Romantic, True Story, Humor,

Desc: Action/Adventure Sex Story: Chapter 1: Strangers When We Meet - Amanda was a movie star who couldn't act, enjoyed the best sex money could buy and knew nothing about love. Mark knew nothing about sex, a lot about Jesus and nothing about ther real world. When Mark saw Amanda in her dental floss workout garb, he fell in loves with Amanda Lust. His crazy parents, a murderous San Diego cop, a drunken judge and a gaggle of corrupt politiciand failed to keep them apart. Then Amanda learned about love and Mark learned about sex.

"Quiet on the set!" an assistant director called.

Another voice off to one side called out in a tired drone, "Scene forty-seven, take fifty-what-the-hell-ever-we-are-up-to, roll 'em."

The realistic Styrofoam brick wall in front of the camera exploded outward, bricks and debris scattered in all directions as Amanda Lust of the Thirtieth Century slammed her way through, took three great strides forward and jumped over the edge of the building onto a preloaded springboard hidden from the view of camera.

The powerful spring threw Amanda Lust almost thirty feet straight up into the air where she caught a trailing rope that hung down from an open sided futuristic looking helicopter. The bad guys forgot to reel it back in after they used it for some implausible task or other.

To the viewer, Amanda appeared to flow up the rope and into the open side of the helicopter. Two male bodies fell out and landed hard on the ground. They each bounced one time. Meanwhile, back up in the air, Amanda appeared in the side door of the machine. She supported an obviously injured man.

"Throw your legs around me and hang on. It's going to be a hard landing!" she shouted over the noise of the noise of the engine and the churning blades.

"Hard landing hell, I'm so hard right now my dick is brittle." He moaned as she swept him around in front of her, jumped out the side of the helicopter and plummeted straight down thirty feet to land with unerring accuracy in the center of the safety net.

She kept hold of him, rolled off the edge of the net and landed on the waiting airbag. "Oh fu-u-uck!" the stuntman screamed as they landed and rolled off onto a heavy foam pad. His face ended up right between her breasts. His tongue made an involuntary pass across her left breast. A "how did I get so lucky?" grin crinkled his face.

Amanda wiggled out from under him, bent over and kissed his lips. Her tongue made a sensuous flicker across his mouth. Then she straightened up in very slow motion and told him, "Go find a corner and play with yourself."

A hand held digital camera caught all the byplay. That bit of not very spontaneous action was supposed to be "smuggled out" and would soon appear on blogs and websites all around the world. The studio bean counters estimated another ten million dollars in ticket sales from that minute and a half clip, perhaps five times that. Hans Steiner, president of Steiner Productions, had taken the famous "Paris Hilton Blow Job" caught on infra-red camera by a freelance reporter and turned it into a sales gimmick. The way the stuntman had rubbed his nose against Amanda's bare belly as she wiggled out from under him was worth at least another million in ticket sales.

"Amanda, dear girl, you must look resolute and heroic when you make the jump. It is crucial to the theme as a whole. You merely looked irritated when you hopped out of that airplane." Alvin Duckworth waddled delicately over to Amanda Lust of the Thirtieth Century. He looked every bit the put upon director of meaningful movies. He sighed, a delicate, dramatic sigh and added, "Please show some emotion in the next take. This scene is holding up production.

Amanda did a back flip from a squatting position and landed on the ground at the director's feet, her barely covered everything was aimed directly at his face. He blanched, drew a hand defensively across his eyes and yelled, "Get that thing out of my face. God, what an ugly sight! I'm going to be ill."

Amanda slowly stood up to her imposing six feet plus two inches and took a deep breath that threatened to dislodge the bronze colored pasties that covered her nipples and left her imposing breasts free to jiggle as she moved. Her deep chest expanded as she drew in a deep breath. Her face darkened into an angry, feral scowl.

Bud Hastings, the stunt man realized she was about to beat the snot out of Alvin Duckworth, sensitive director and maker of meaningful films. "Stop," Bud told her in a low voice.

She stopped her approach, took another deep breath and forced herself to not turn Alvin into road kill. In a deadly voice she told the director of meaningful films, "That was all you get, you simpering ass. What you already have in the can is all you get." Over her shoulder, she said, "Come on Bud, let's get the hell out of here. I would like a lift to the studio office. I rode out with that posturing fool this morning."

They went out to the parking area and mounted Bud's motorcycle. A minute later he stopped his Harley Davidson Sportster in front of the studio offices and Amanda stepped off.

Amanda Lust, action movie heroine extraordinaire, stormed into the producer's office. "Hans, you son of a bitch, I've had it with you and your games. I will not tolerate your bull crap any more. This is it. I told you before I never wanted work on any picture your friend Ducky directed, ever again. Let's change that to, I will never do a picture evenly remotely associated with him in any way shape or form."

She paused to take another deep breath, "I will never knowingly even step foot on a set I know he is on. That prissy, pissy fat little toad brought the last Avenger episode in way the hell over budget and in twice the time it should have taken to put it in the can. That artistic little clown that waddles like a penguin is trying to make The Lustful Avenger 6 into 'a classic and a statement of the ills of our society.' There is absolutely no way in hell I will ever work with that artistic toad ever again."

"In the first place, I am not a great actor, actually not much of an actor at all. You know it; I know it and the people that go see my pictures don't give a damn about it. They like to check out my almost naked body. They like the action. I kick the hell out of the bad guys, manage to hint that I'm going to get laid by my costar and perhaps a few more in the next installment and that the world is once more safe for truth, democracy and what the hell ever comes next."

Hans Steiner held up a placating hand, "Alvin Duckworth is an artist who is sought after by producers all over the world," he told Amanda in a patient voice. "He and I felt we could expand your marketability by adding more depth to the storyline. Amanda, you must move forward. I have a vision..."

"Fuck you, fuck your vision and move forward on this," Amanda answered as she grabbed her crotch. "My contract is due for renewal in a few weeks, so renew it."

She paused at the door, "Or don't. Right now I don't care either way. Talk to Sam about it. I have about had it with all the bull shit that goes on in this studio lately. I would much rather work with Chuck Norris or Stallone. Now there are two old men who know how to put action pictures together in a proper manner."

She called over her shoulder as she went out the door, "I'll be at my place in San Diego if you need to contact me. But it had better be an emergency." She stormed out the office and left Hans Steiner in an unhappy quandary. Either Steiner would lose Amanda Lust, the top money maker at Steiner Productions, or he would be forced to go back on his word to his long time and dearest friend, Alvin Duckworth. It meant he must renege on a promise that Alvin would direct Amanda's next three action adventure movies and turn them into epics that even the big boys at Columbia would respect. Hans craved peer respect with all his very being.

He speed dialed his friend. When Alvin answered, Hans told him, "Alvin, Amanda refuses to sign a new contract if you are in the picture. I'll help you get situated with Green Bee or Columbia if I can. Bye now." He hung up fast. He did not care to give the dumbfounded friend a chance to protest. On the other end of the line, a now unemployed director of artistic films contemplated suicide, then decided to get drunk instead.

Steiner had already put the phone call out of his mind as he went on to the more important business, "What message does my snap brim hat convey to the world at large? Would a monocle help my image?"

Amanda Lust was the action super heroine who almost had it all. Her birth name actually was Amanda Louise Lusty. Her Father was John Lusty, devout Christian and ardent admirer of his good buddy Jesus. He loved the sly remarks his name generated in Christian circles when someone referred to him as "Lusty John. Otherwise the only time he ever smiled was when he heard a Catholic or a Mormon died or suffered great loss. John Lusty was a devout fundamentalist. Even Missionary Baptists were suspected of harboring modernist views.

Amanda's mother's maiden name was Melody Loving. When she married John she became Melody Loving Lusty. Her name caused her much embarrassment. She had no sense of humor, merely a fundamentalist's sense of duty.

No studio flack in his wildest drug induced dreams could have come up with such a perfect pedigree. Hans decided to drop the "y" off the end of her last name. Someone pointed out to him that such a big, muscular lady named "Lusty" might be considered a dyke, so the final "y" was dropped. Amanda loved the change.

Although barely twenty-four years of age, she had already become the action heroine all the pre-teen, teen age and post-teen action movie buffs rated number one. Amanda could memorize her lines with no problem at all, usually with one single read through of the script. She could even recite her lines with no difficulty at all. What she needed was that rare quality called acting ability.

Her problem was in her delivery; Amanda had two emotions she could bring to the camera, anger and happiness, mad or glad. Sometimes, on very rare occasions, she even managed to project a little sad. Nearly all shades of emotion in between mad and glad were beyond her ability to express. In real life those were the only two emotions Amanda had ever experienced, glad or mad.

"My wife's vibrator shows more emotion than Amanda does when she's on camera," an assistant director once said. "If she wasn't so photogenic, she would have to cheat some poor illegal out of a job picking lettuce. I don't know why, but the damned camera loves her. Even without makeup she projects better than all the others wearing a ton of Max Factor." The assistant director was correct, except Amanda did show a little more feeling than a vibrator, not much, just a wee bit more emotion.

As for Amanda, she was twenty-four years old, a seriously dedicated bodybuilder, martial artist and all around horny athlete. She was also a nationally-rated rock climber. Even though she had been shorted where acting ability was concerned, her movies sold a lot of tickets. She made the big money because her ruggedly sensual female features inspired trust in women, while their boyfriends all wanted to fuck Amanda until her ears fell off. Her lithe muscular body jumped right off the screen at the viewer. Amanda Lust was all the camera saw when she was in front of it.

The critics hated her and her fans loved her. To them, her fans, she could do no wrong. As far as the critics were concerned, she never did anything right. The directors told the writers to work around her lack of acting ability, which they did. Amanda had more one-liners than even Arnold when he first started his acting career. This also meant that everyone who worked on the increasingly popular Amanda Lust movies prospered.

Because the camera loved her, it was just as her agent and best friend Sam Cashman said over and over, "Hey, she looks so damned good up there on the screen she doesn't need to have much talent. All the guys from nine to ninety-nine want to take her to bed and crawl her bones. The girls want to be just like her and they get the guys to pay for the tickets to take them to see her pictures. What else in life do we need? We got it all..."

Of course Amanda was all too well aware that her numbers at the box office would begin to sag just about the same time her abs, boobs and butt cheeks did. To keep that day of reckoning far in the future she followed a rigid lifestyle. She ate a simple diet, stayed away from drugs and drank only a very little wine on rare occasions.

She also saved and invested her money against that day when she could no longer throw space aliens through windows and knock down brick walls with a shrug of her powerful shoulders. As far as Amanda Lust was concerned, life was beautiful and uncomplicated. She was young, wealthy, healthy and got laid whenever she so desired, which was often. This was how her life went until that one special day when she met him...

He had just turned twenty-two and recently graduated from the college run by his church. He was also a total innocent. No female had ever touched his bare bottom since his mother finished potty training him three years after he was born. The private religious school he attended through college was designed to prepare rich, modern fundamentalist guys for their equally unprepared but moneyed fundamentalist wives- to-be.

These future husbands learned very early on that masturbation made their eyes weak and their ears fall off or something equally horrible and mysterious. Besides, Jesus would definitely not approve. Most of the boys and young men decided glasses or contacts wouldn't be too bad and did what boys have done ever since boys were first invented. They carefully checked their hands each morning for signs of peter wear and hairy palms. Besides, they figured, what Jesus did not see he could not get too uptight about. So they masturbated in the dark, after bedtime.

For them the mysteries of sex were all very hush-hush and considered an inappropriate subject for girls and boys of any age to be concerned with until after the marriage ceremony. Then they would get all the trial and error on the job training they desired. Unfortunately, this often led to, among other things, unresolved sexual identities, gay second marriages and other catastrophic occurrences polite Christians never mentioned to each other except in nervous titters and giggles.

Finally, one bright spring day, Mark Cantrell received a calling from God Himself to serve in the mission field. He knew this was so because Reverend Billy Joe Thorny told him how he personally had a revelation.

Mark wished he could have a revelation, just once, that came straight from God. Even a weather report for tomorrow would be great. Anything would do, just so he could say, "God told me it's going to rain tomorrow." Instead all he got were wet dreams almost every night. Mark decided Life just was not fair.

His father told him, "Mark, my son, if Reverend Billy Joe says to serve as a missionary, well then you must go serve. We'll wait until you have done your duty to God before I bring you into the company. Would you care to take the Benz or the Caddy? The Lincoln is in the shop again."

His mother smiled lovingly and told him, "Oh I do hope this will be a positive learning experience for you, dear." Mamma worried about her only child, secretly proud they looked more like brother and sister than mother and son. Well, that was what everyone in church said and she knew Christians did not lie. (Not in this instance, anyway.)

The young man chose the more dignified Mercedes Benz sedan and drove across town to begin his calling as a missionary. Reverend Billy decided Sister Molly Perkins, an attractive and serene looking woman, posing to the world as a not-quite-in-her-thirties widow, was the best choice to act as senior companion to the naïve young man. Molly, on the other hand, would have preferred to remain in the Church Headquarters Office and take dictation, among other things, from Reverend Billy.

"Look, Molly, just lead the kid along and be patient. You keep your mind focused on his daddy's bank account. Give me two more years with Daddy and you can drop this gig and head out to Majorca, or the Riviera, your choice. Hell, you can go anywhere in the world you want. The guy has his head so far up his ass he will never breathe smog- free air again. You do your part and I'll do mine." He gave her a sly grin and added, "Of course you can go back to the strip joints in New Orleans and turn tricks between sets like you were when I first met you twelve years ago."

Billy met Molly when he was vacationing in New Orleans while he hid out from prosecutors in Los Angeles County who wanted him to answer questions he did not dare answer. He left a few women behind in Los Angeles who felt there had to be more to salvation than the few "stuffing sessions," as Billy referred to them in private,, which left them rich in experience and poor in the pocket book.

Billy met Molly in a strip joint on Bourbon Street and knew he had found the perfect accomplice. She sucked dick like a cyclone and looked like an serene angel. Billy got a new last name and Molly invented a new past. They became a perfect team. The church they founded in San Diego prospered from the first day it opened. Billy financed the purchase of the Church school from another religious group and had a captive student body that made him rich.

Molly sighed and brought her mind into the present. She told him, "No thank you, Billy. Lead me on to little Mister Rich Kid. I'll be Mary Poppins just this one last time. But no more, this is the last time Billy, and I mean it. I have started to get nervous around all this holy bull shit, as you so delicately put it."

She took a deep breath, sighed and left to help the young man find his destiny with God. Molly felt she was every bit the put upon martyr...

They rang bells; they knocked on doors and received the usual rebuffs and vague promises. All the while Molly became more frustrated with each doorbell they rang. She much preferred the joys of sex to the joys of Jesus. Then disaster struck when Sister Molly twisted her ankle. It happened in front of a nice looking family style bungalow set back from the street on a large plot of land.

She was thankful it gave her an excuse to say, "You go ahead and ring the doorbell, Mark dear. I'll wait in the car for you." With the young man's assistance, Sister Molly hobbled back to the unlocked Mercedes Benz and sighed a grateful sigh as she sat on the rich, soft upholstery. She tuned the car radio to a country western station, closed her eyes and listened to the music. After all what could happen to the dear sweet young man in a nice neighborhood like this? And who really gave a damn? It was a certainty Molly didn't.

She leaned back in the seat and napped as the soft breeze from outside the car washed her face in its cool breath and the late Johnny Cash "walked the line" one more time.

The front gate outside the house was locked. A high wrought iron fence guarded its tree-lined perimeter. The half-acre lot the house sat on had a manicured lawn and well-tended beds of flowers. It was a picture from a Norman Rockwell setting. Mark saw a small discreet sign that said "Pull Bell Cord To Enter." He pulled on the cord once and a tinny voice answered almost immediately from a small hidden speaker, "Come around to the back. I'm by the pool."

He heard a muted "click" and the gate swung open on well-oiled hinges. A walkway made of yellow bricks circled the house. The gate closed behind him. He followed the yellow brick path around the side of the house and remembered Dorothy in the "Wizard of Oz." Likening himself to the innocent young Dorothy made him smile. After all, young Dorothy was so naïve. His smile was replaced by a look of wonder as he rounded the corner of the house and saw her.

To Mark's innocent young eyes she looked like a Greek goddess, even Diana, goddess of the hunt, or an Amazon warrior, with her muscular Amazon's body and perfect deep golden brown tan. The problem was that all the pictures of Greek goddesses, even the depictions of Diana in the mythology course he studied in school wore so very much more clothing, one hell of a lot more clothing in fact. While the gods and goddesses had on togas and gowns that showed modestly covered breasts and modestly uncovered arms, her bronzed goddess's costume consisted of what he later learned was a micro mini-kini and titty ribbon.

She was in the squat rack lifting an impressively weighted barbell with the mechanical rhythm of a robot. She looked down and called as she grunted and strained one last time, "Set it down over there on the table. If the juice isn't cold, take it back." She grunted and made her last lift.

"I don't have 'it', whatever it is, so I can't set it on the table and I have no juice, cold or otherwise with me," He told her in a hesitant voice.

Amanda Lust took her time as she eased the padded bar bell off her shoulders. She stepped out and away from the squat rack, stood straight and stretched. Then she stared in surprise at the slender young guy dressed in old guys' clothes. In turn, he stared at her very evident Venus mound in shock, dismay and utter fascination. She grinned and tensed her abdominal muscles, which caused her crotch to shift a little forward and become more defined. He gasped and continued to stare, his mouth half open in awe.

"Hey, my face is up here," she told him with soft laughter in her voice. "How may I help you?

"Oh!" he exclaimed. He grasped his throat as if for protection, blushed a deep shade of red and tried very hard to concentrate on her face. Against his will his gaze kept returning to that oh so exotic mound south of her navel with the very thin cloth patch that barely concealed it.

He was very confused. "Oh, er, ah," he stammered, "your friend Biff Taylor told us you might be interested in learning about the Lord," he told her. "He said you are always interested in new things."

"Oh yes, good old Biffy, my ex-boyfriend and one time co-star. I am afraid he has played a cruel joke. Last week he sent an insurance agent to see me about an accidental death policy. The time before that it was a woman who collected donations for the 'Save the Spotted Possum Foundation, ' or some such thing. He is a cruel and vindictive person, as well as a lousier actor than I am, if that is possible. And he is definitely a waste of time in bed."

"You mean you don't want to learn?" he asked her. His eyes kept returning to her crotch. All sorts of new emotions coursed through him and made it hard to concentrate on his purpose for being there.

She walked up within reach and said, "Here, touch it." She took his wrist and brought the palm of his hand against her soft, well-defined mound.

"Ooh dear!" he exclaimed as he felt a jolting shock surge through his body. He was unable to remove his hand; it remained glued to her crotch and he became hard, painfully so. The tiny crotch patch shifted slightly and her neatly trimmed pussy was bared for the world to see. She shifted his unresisting hand until it came in contact with her burning bare flesh. "Oh!" he whimpered again and looked helplessly into her eyes like a deer in the middle of the road might stare at the oncoming headlights bearing down on it.

It was then Amanda realized this was an innocent boy in a man's body and he had to be a total and complete virgin. Such a thing was absolutely unheard of, especially in Southern California. Maybe it was even against the law for all she knew. But here he was. "You better go now and come back later when you know more about how things work in the real world," she told him in almost a whisper. Then she flicked her tongue once across his virgin's lips. "I don't poach helpless little bunnies. You better let go of me, you're about to squeeze it off." Her amused, dark brooding eyes burned through to the very core of his inner being.

Startled, he realized what his fingers had hold of and began to squeeze even harder for a second. His eyes shifted down to what was his hand had hold of, went back to her face. Then suddenly he regained the will to move. "Oh dear," he squeaked and jerked his hand away as if it had been burned. "I ... I don't normally go around to ... and ... grab ... hold..." In total confusion, he closed his mouth and retreated back around the house and away from this Greek goddess of a woman. He placed the hand that had held and squeezed her pussy against his cheek. His palm burned his face.

He took deep, panic-stricken breaths as he worked hard to regain his composure. Mark felt numb, as he opened the car door on the driver's side of the Mercedes Benz and slid in. He turned the key in the ignition by habit, not aware of anything except his hand that still remembered the feel of when he held onto her in that place he had only a faint knowledge about.

"Well," Sister Molly interrupted the confused young man's racing thoughts, "What happened? You weren't there very long. Were the people there interested?"

"I was invited to come back later, at a more appropriate time," he answered, still in a state of shock and unable to say any more. His state of shock lasted until he put the car in drive and pulled away from the curb. He felt numb and excited at the same time. It felt as if his whole being vibrated as he experienced the confusion and burning emotions all over again. He remembered the way he held it in his hand.

Excitement gripped his muscles and made it difficult for him to drive. His thoughts swirled in dizzying circles through his head. He was afraid and confused and more. What part of that "more" was he had a very good idea. The school textbooks imparted the mechanics of the sex act. This was something else though; a very primitive, elemental part of him began to awaken for the first time.

All he knew for certain was he wanted that unknown "more," even though he accepted it had everything to do with sex. He sighed and concentrated on his driving. Sister Molly leaned back in the car seat unaware of the surging emotions that chased each other through her younger companion's confused mind. She was more aware of her painful, throbbing ankle.

Mark drove Sister Molly home and got out of the car to help the older woman up to her apartment. Molly told him, "My ankle seems to be badly sprained so I won't be able to go with you again for a few days probably. Since you have an invitation to return to that house, why don't you concentrate your energies there? It will give you some positive experience and there shouldn't be any problems in such a nice neighborhood."

She gave her young companion a serene smile, oh-so-thankful for an excuse to stop ringing those damned doorbells.

"Okay, if you say so," Mark said in a doubtful voice, "I just feel afraid of..." he got no further.

"Hush now, Mark. What could happen to you there? One look at your unspoiled, innocent face and people will listen to you and respect your message. You need experience on your own. It will give you confidence and courage."

"All right, if you say so," Mark told her, still doubtful, even though he figured confidence and courage were not all he would experience. Mark helped Sister Molly out of the Mercedes Benz and into her apartment. As he left her apartment Mark remembered how it felt in the hand he cupped over that soft, bare flesh. His face began to tingle and become warm again. The palm of his hand that had held her crotch burned anew. He closed his eyes momentarily and held his hand to his lips and pressed. He experienced squirmy feelings in his stomach. He felt a strange, unfamiliar wave of sweet, warm excitement inside and his breath came faster as his hand again remembered holding her ... it.

He gave his lips a nervous lick. Almost against his will he was compelled to return to that house. It called to him with a siren's call he could not resist. He closed his eyes for a moment in the car before he drove away and saw it all over again and remembered how it looked peeking out of the side of her scant crotch cover. Again he remembered the excitement he felt when his hand came in contact with her bare flesh, how wonderful and strange it felt to him. He licked his lips and drove back to her house.

Mark pulled up in front of the house and stopped. It took a few moments to gather his courage and get out of the car. Uncertain, he walked to the locked gate and pulled the bell cord, just like he had done before. There was no answer. He pulled it again and still got no response. After the third try he gave up. He felt relief wash over him and disappointment as well. He returned to his car and drove home. The emotions he felt inside him seemed almost too much to bear.

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Story tagged with:
Ma/Fa / Consensual / Romantic / True Story / Humor /