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Intimate Improvisation
All stories on this web site are purely FICTIONAL. The people depicted within these stories only exist in someone's IMAGINATION. Any resemblence between anyone depicted in these stories and any real person, living or dead, is an incredible COINCIDENCE too bizarre to be believed. If you think that you or someone you know is depicted in one of these stories it's only because you're a twisted perverted little fucker who sees conspiracies and plots where none exist. You probably suspect that your own MOTHER had sex with ALIENS and COWS and stuff. Well, she didn't. It's all in your head. Now take your tranquilizers and RELAX.
INTIMATE IMPROVISATION
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I'm a thirty-six year old television, film, and stage director. I've
noticed (and experienced) in the past five years that there has been sharp rise
of, shall I say, fraternization between directors and actors, especially
actresses.
The myth of the casting couch has always been overstated, and in the
1960's, what with the women's movement, sexual activity between male directors
and actresses was at an all-time low. Lately, however, it's been on the rise.
I've had a number of sexual encounters lately which I think prove my point.
I remember one incident which occurred while I was casting a stage play in
Chicago.
This blonde actress, about 5'9", with tits so ripe you just wanted to
pare and suck them dry, came in for an audition. She read from the script, but
honestly, I wasn't even listening. As she walked about the stage during the
reading, her tits bounced freely, wildly, beneath her thin, cotton sweater. I
could see the outline of her nipple as it enlarged and retracted underneath.
Though her voice was soft, there was something unusually provocative about it.
I had her do some improvisation. I said, pretend you're on the telephone
and you're about to tell your boyfriend that he no longer pleases you, that
you're in need of new excitement, a new turn on. Very slowly, as if planned,
she lowered her hand to the crack in her bluejeans. Rubbing harder against her
crotch, she began saying tentatively:
"All I want, Roger, is for someone to make love to me with the passion I
deserve."
She listened silently, pretending to hear his response. She spoke again,
with more certainty.
"I don't feel you inside me often enough. I think maybe you don't care.
There are so many times when I open my mouth at night and want you inside me,
but I'm afraid to ask for fear you'll turn away."
My hard-on was practically pushing its way through my pants because we
both knew she was turning me on as well as doing her improvisation.
Needless to say, I gave her the part. About a week into rehearsals, I
asked her to stay late one night. I mentioned that she was very good at
improvisation, and maybe we could do some among ourselves to see if it would
be a good idea for the entire cast. We remained there for three hours.
She sat right next to me, casually letting me feel the warm smoothness of
her tit against my elbow. I suggested we do the same improv she did for the
audition. She began by telling me the same general thing: how I don't pay
enough attention to her, etc.
I responded by telling her I thought she was cold. Even though it was
only an improvised scene, I believe she took what I said a bit personally, as
if to say, how would you know?
Moving closer, she pressed her firm tit against me. Immediately, her
knife-like, pointy nipples extended. As her small pricks of desire pressed
into my arm, she whispered to me that many people have called her many things,
but never cold.
She unbuttoned her blouse, taking about twenty seconds between each
button. Each opening revealed a little more of her swelled breasts. By the
fourth button, my eyes began to delight in the creamy area surrounding each
nipple. It was a rich, light brown color, spotted by several tiny goose bumps.
Then she let her blouse fall to the floor.
Huge tits, bigger and plumper than I imagined, with very long, smooth pink
nipples. Standing up, she let her swaying mammaries fall over my head, then
fall lower and scraped across my cheeks and mouth. I began sucking in all the
tit I could. My hand instinctively reached for the crease in her jeans. Using
her left hand, she helped me pop the button, and both out hands lowered the
zipper. For a moment I was fixated on her thick patch of slightly moist pubic
hair.
We both took off the rest of our clothes.
"I think you'll find," she whispered, "I'm not cold."
As I lay on the floor, she bent over and furiously rimmed my cock. At the
same time, I jammed my teeth into her wet pussy, invading her snatch with my
tongue like a hungry animal. Suddenly, she jumped up, placed her watering,
sticky pussy over my cock and humped like an urban cowboy. Fucking up and
down, she began bellowing and yahooing. Her mouth began dripping with saliva,
which flung over half the room.
There's something about this decade that's bringing raw sex out of these
actresses I encounter. Maybe they're totally liberated to do whatever they
feel. That's all right by me. As I say, directing isn't what you do, but how
you do it.
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