Our Journey into Darkness Pt. 02

These stories are based upon the fantasies of two real people. Please read the intro for part one of this series to better understand the protagonists.

Chapter 2: The Commercial

We had just arrived when Elizabeth received a text on her cell phone. Reading it, she pursed her lips and exhaled through her nose in exasperation.

"What is it?" I asked, already anticipating her answer.

"The shoot has been cancelled," she explained.

As I had suspected. I nodded sympathetically.

"Do you still want to go?" she asked.

"Oh, I dunno," I replied doubtfully. "Las Vegas. Do you think we can find enough to keep us busy for three whole days?"

She cocked her head and smiled at my sarcasm before we continued into the airport to have our luggage checked.

The flight was about to board, the parking was paid for three days, we had booked our time off; it would be a waste of both time and money not to go. And it's not like we couldn't afford it, and we hadn't expected to spend all three days in front of a photographer, anyway!

The flight was uneventful; something just over four hours.

This trip, we were staying at The Planet Hollywood Hotel. I usually stayed at either here or The Hard Rock whenever I came to Vegas, but the "PH" had a deal on the room and the shuttle from the airport was free.

When we arrived at the hotel we were pleasantly surprised at having our room upgraded! Elizabeth's modelling job had given us plenty of notice for this trip and I had booked the hotel nearly four weeks ago. Even so, upon our arrival, the desk clerk informed us that there had been an error and our room had been mistakenly given away that morning. She apologized for the inconvenience and told us that she had taken the liberty of upgrading us to the Fountain View.

That was incredible. We usually just stay in a room rather than a suite, mostly because of the price, partly because we don't spend a lot of time in our hotel room, but also because you can't usually book a suite a year in advance in Las Vegas! To get even a Fountain View room, which is one of their bargain suites, on only a few hours short notice is really amazing.

I love Las Vegas! Each hotel on "The Strip" (Las Vegas Boulevard) is like an all-inclusive resort: casino, restaurants, cafes, the theatre... You could stay at some of them for a month and never leave the hotel.

In preparing for this trip our schedules had not aligned very well during the last week. I manage a bar and had to make sure that things were going to run smoothly over the weekend while I was away. Liz had also pulled a couple of extra shifts where she tended bar in order to have the weekend free for her photo shoot.

Liz and I hadn't seen much of each other that week and I had been looking forward to kicking off the weekend by making love to her when we arrived.

We had been going through a bit of a rough patch lately. Something had happened between her and her best friend during her last modelling job which had somehow overflowed into our relationship. I had even gone so far as to phone Jennifer to ask her about it, but she had always been a bit of a stuck-up bitch and seemed even more so when I talked to her. When Liz asked me to come with her on this trip I knew that we were back to smooth sailing.

We had taken a mid-afternoon flight and got into the hotel later than we would have liked. We were both pretty hungry and it was easy for Liz to talk me into dinner before sex.

Of course, I was dressed and ready for dinner way before Liz. The thing about models is that they always want to look like models, even when they're not modelling! So I played around with the TV for a few minutes, then told her that I was going to wait for her in Blondies.

I knew the thought of me drinking alone in a sports bar would light a fire under her.

I didn't really want to blow my first night in Vegas in a bar so when I sat down I ordered a black coffee and a boilermaker with bourbon. I hate bourbon, but being the manager of a sports bar in Ohio I know it makes me look more sophisticated than the average sports bar patron.

I downed the coffee to keep me awake (four hours is a long time to be sitting in a plane) and tossed back the bourbon to make an impression.

Blondies is big for a hotel bar. There were quite a few people in the place, and while it wasn't packed yet, it was still early for Vegas. I had grabbed a booth close to the bar, but not too close to the lone patron sitting on a stool several feet away from me.

I had barely noticed him when I walked in. He was an older fellow in a good suit. A typical middle-aged business man stopping off at the sports bar after a day at the office. Hardly worth noticing if it weren't for the second man who joined him several minutes later -- a cheesy-looking guy in a cheap suit, and while he hadn't said anything yet he reminded me of a used car salesman.

Elizabeth came down several minutes later. Every eye was on her as she strode into the bar. Her blonde hair contrasted her tight, mid-thigh black dress with a plunging neckline that made it obvious she was not wearing a bra tonight. She was wearing her "fuck me" pumps -- 4" heels which invited you to follow her long, tanned legs and fantasize about what was under her hemline. She set it all off with a simple charm bracelet and a delicate, silver necklace.

Simple, yet somehow slutty -- which is exactly what she wanted, I'm sure!

She did this intentionally, strolling through the bar like she was walking down the runway, not just attracting their attention, but inviting it. She liked the way men looked at her, and she liked them to fantasize about her sexually. She said "it makes me tingle".

And judging from the reactions of the other guys in the room and their girlfriends, she was getting exactly the reaction that she wanted!

I was okay with that; she knew that she could have any guy in that room, but she picked me! It gave me "cred" with other guys when they saw that.

I stood and kissed her as she got to the table, and I noticed that the two guys at the bar, both about my age, were actually gawking at her. I gave them that non-threatening look that says, "back to your drinks, boys".

"A beer cocktail?" she asked, eyeing my shot-glass as she sat in the booth. I smiled, stepped over to the bar, and got her a white wine. The two guys were still kinda watching me, but the last thing I wanted was trouble.

Don't get me wrong -- I wasn't afraid of these guys! I've had to stand toe-to-toe a few times in bars where I've worked, but these guys seemed harmless and I certainly didn't want to get thrown in jail in Nevada over the weekend.

Before leaving for the buffet, Liz and I sat in the booth talking for a few minutes as we finished our drinks. Shortly after I sat down, however, "well-dressed guy" left. "Used car salesman" came up to our table, smiled at me in cordial acknowledgement, then said to Elizabeth, "Can I talk to you for a minute, honey?" He then walked back down the bar, out of earshot, and waited for her.

Elizabeth and I exchanged doubtful glances, but she got up and walked over to him. The guy began an animated discussion with Elizabeth when a shocked look came over her face and she gave him a full-palm slap in the side of his face.

I rose from my seat immediately, as did at least three other guys, but we all stopped when we saw the glare she was giving the guy. Then she walked away from him and came back to her seat.

The bartender had come out from behind the bar saying, "Mr. Chapel!"

The guy -- "Chapel" -- put up his hands defensively saying, "My fault! My fault! Sorry!..."

I sat back down with Elizabeth and asked her, "What was that about?"

"He thought I was an escort!" she exclaimed. She did get this from time to time; quite a bit of her outward indignity was for the benefit of the others in the bar.

"So you had another opportunity to make some money this weekend and you blew it off?" I teased.

"Shut up," she scolded me with a wry smile.

We were just finishing up our drinks when this Chapel guy came over to our table with another boilermaker and white wine.

"Look, buddy," he spoke to me directly. "I'm really sorry about that. Your girlfriend looks so much younger than you. Whatever you drink in Blondies this weekend is on me. Help yourself -- whatever you want."

"Well," I started, not really sure how to react. "Thank you." Liz did not look impressed.

"You're a very lucky man," he continued. Then to Liz, "Really -- you could be a model, sweetie."

"She is a model," I bragged proudly. Elizabeth gave me that glare that says, shut up.

The guy's expression changed. "Really? So... are you in Vegas for business...?" he seemed to venture.

Not wanting to get any deeper, I deferred to Elizabeth to answer that herself.

"I was supposed to be working but it fell through," she stated simply.

"Oh. So you do model professionally?" he looked sidelong at her.

"When I can. Several times a year."

"Really! This is great! I just lost a model and I've got a shoot tomorrow. Give me a minute, will ya?"

Then he walked away and made a cell phone call.

"We should go," Elizabeth suggested cynically.

"What -- not interested?"

"This guy creeps me out," she replied.

I couldn't argue with her there -- he did give off that aura. We waffled over that for a minute or so and were just about to leave when he came back to the table, although he was still talking on the phone. "No, she's never shot a commercial before."

"Commercial?" we both exchanged glances.

"... I don't think so," he continued. "I'll ask her. Have you ever done any nudes -- calendars or anything?"

"No." She didn't seem surprised at that question.

"So, no adult movies?"

"No," she again replied.

"Good," he said. Then into the phone, "No, nothing." Then he paused, said, "Okay!" then hung up.

"How would you like to make ten thousand dollars?" he asked flatly.

He dropped it on her like a bomb. I'm sure that our eyes must have bugged out at that number. Liz and I looked at each other.

"For a commercial?!" Liz exclaimed.

"Well... yeah!" Chapel hesitantly replied. "I know it's a lot, but we're stuck, and it's not much more than we were gonna pay the other model, anyway."

Elizabeth recovered her composure almost instantly. "No," she said flatly.

"What?!" I blurted, startled at her quick reply. I think I must have forgotten to pack my poker face this trip.

"No, no -- it's okay," Chapel said, still smirking ironically. "I'm not gonna push. You two enjoy your weekend," he concluded with a much more sincere smile. "I'm serious about your drinks here!" Then he walked toward the door.

I gave Elizabeth a pleading look.

She rolled her eyes at me. "Let me see the contract!" she called after Chapel.

Chapel turned around, surprised at her renewed interest, then rushed eagerly back to the table.

"I don't have the contract on me," he explained, "but I can fax the script to the hotel here tonight. If you're still interested then meet me at this address at ten o'clock in the morning." He was writing an address on the back of a business card. "You can look over the contract and sign the release and everything tomorrow. Don't bring your baggage, and make sure you speak with me first thing when you get there! Do you understand? First thing! Very important!"

"Yeah, sure," I agreed.

"But I'm going to tell you," he went on, "if you take this you'll really be saving my bacon." Then he looked at me. "Are, uh... are you her agent?"

"No," I replied, looking at his card. It was a plain white card with just his name, Brett Chappelle, "Producer", and a phone number.

"Do you have an agent?" he asked Elizabeth. "May I have his card?"

"No," she replied, "I don't have an agent.

"Hmph. This would have been easier if you had an agent. No problem; I'll send that fax over tonight. I hope to see you in the morning." He looked at me, then to Elizabeth he said pointedly, "No baggage."

We discussed it after he had left. Elizabeth was suspicious, mostly because of the amount of money: "Ten thousand dollars for a commercial?! I wish!" She was right that it didn't seem plausible to receive ten grand just because the guy was desperate.

"And why would he not want you to bring any clothes?" I asked her suspiciously.

"What?" she asked me, confused at my question.

"No baggage." I mimicked Chappelle.

"Oh!" she laughed at me. "Don't you remember? That means, 'no boyfriends'!" she said with that broad smile of hers. I loved that smile.

"Oh," I replied, embarrassed at my own naivete.

That was actually not a problem. I did remember her explaining that to me quite some time ago, but Liz had banned me from attending any of her shoots anyway so I had forgotten.

In the end she decided that we would look at this "script" and decide from that.

We finished our drinks, had dinner at the Spice Market, then went over the The Gallery. I checked with the desk twice that evening for Chappelle's fax, but it was a no-show.

Oh! Before I forget -- funny story: After the second time I went to the front desk, I was returning to The Gallery and I bumped into this old guy coming out of the club. I say old; he had this grey hair that was kind-of all over the place, but he was tall, carried himself well, and was still built pretty solid for an older guy.

"Jeez -- I'm sorry, pal!" I told him as emphatically as I could. He had such a "presence" about him that I did actually feel a bit intimidated by this guy. I've had to tangle with a couple of guys over the years in the bar. I would not have wanted to square off against this one.

But I had nothing to worry about. He flashed me an unusually warm smile, gave me a very friendly slap on the shoulder, and in a very firm yet reassuring voice said, "No, don't worry about it." Then he winked at me and was gone.

I went in and sat back down beside Liz. She was smiling sardonically at me and shaking her head.

"What?" I asked innocently.

"When you get back home," she said wryly, "you can tell people that you ran into Harrison Ford." Then leaning forward to push her point home she finished with, "Literally."

That took a moment to sink in.

"Really?!" I exclaimed in amazement, looking back through the entrance of the club. In my own defence I have to say that he looks completely different without his fedora. And his hair really threw me off; I guess he combs it for the movies.

"Did you get it?" she asked.

"No, not yet."

"Well, if I'm going to do this shoot tomorrow then I have to get to bed."

"So you're going to do it, then?"

"I don't know. Ten thousand bucks is a lot of money. He said there's a contract and a release so it must be legitimate."

I left instructions at the desk that we were to be notified immediately when the fax came in, regardless of the time.

When we got back to our room there was a bottle of wine waiting for us. It was sitting in a wine bucket, but the ice had long-since melted. The hand-written card read, "Compliments of Mr. Brett Chappelle" in a hand much more feminine that Chappelle's. I wondered if he had sent it up before bringing us those drinks and talking to us.

I cuddled up to Liz from behind as we were getting ready for bed.

With a smile she hugged my arms as they encircled her waist and reminded me, "You know the rules! I'm not walking into a shoot looking like I've been making love to my fiance all night."

"Oooo," I said with a smile. "I like when you call it 'making love'. It sounds so dirty."

Pulling away she asked, "You like when I talk dirty?"

"You know I do," I acknowledged with a smile. I knew what was coming next.

Still in my underwear she guided me backward to the bed.

"What else do you like?" she asked suggestively.

"You make a pretty awesome gin rickey," I joked.

"A what?" she laughed at my Southern colloquialism. "A gin rickey, huh?" as she pushed me back onto the bed.

She knelt between my knees and smiled at me as she ran her hands along the top of my legs toward my boxers.

"I think I know a couple of other things you like about me," she intimated as she gently rubbed my half-erect shaft and testicles through the material.

"Well I guess maybe you do," I agreed.

She massaged my tool a few times before grabbing the waistband of my underwear and pulling it down to my ankles, exposing my half-erect penis.

As she sat up straight, she rubbed her hands up along my legs and pelvis until they were caressing my stomach. She leaned in close to rub her belly against my scrotum. Then she moved her hands around to the side of my rib cage as she leaned in to kiss my chest. She kissed below my sternum, to my belly, moved my swelling cock out of the way to kiss just below my navel.

I nearly sprang fully erect when she planted a soft, succulent kiss to the underside of my shaft, her lips snuggling into the frenulum just below the glans.

"There's the little guy!" she teased as it swelled quickly to full erection.

It's as close to heaven as a guy can get. We hadn't had sex in a few days so I knew this wasn't going to take long.

She kissed and nibbled all along the underside of my shaft, right down to my shorn scrotum. She nuzzled her nose into my sack before gently sucking in one ball and letting it drop back out almost immediately.

She slowly kissed her way back up my shaft, moaning softly, until she got to the head. She looked up at me with a smile. "I love this dick," she breathed, kissed it once more, ran her tongue slowly around the glans, then with a warm exhale engulfed it with her mouth.

It seemed as if her cheeks were embracing the sides of my cock as she slowly drew her lips back up the shaft to the head. Then she opened her mouth wide and descended upon it once again. Her mouth seemed to embrace my penis as she slowly pulled back up the shaft, as if trying to draw the juices out of my balls with her heaving motions.

Over and over again she slowly consumed my dick, moaning appreciatively as she pushed the head of my eight-inch shaft as far back into her throat as she could manage, careful not to gag, undulating up and down slowly like waves on the sand, all the while stroking the underside of my scrotum with her fingernails.

After only a few short minutes, she withdrew her head slowly from my member, leaving a lingering kiss on the tip, nurturing the shaft in her hand.

She then began kissing all around the head; slowly... gently... Long, lingering kisses. She was making slow, sensual love to my penis. Rolling her tongue beneath the head, smearing it around her lips in a long, wet kiss, all the time milking the shaft slowly with her hand.

She planted delicate little kisses all up and down the shaft, then, looking into my eyes, she kissed the underside of the head and drew it into her mouth with a gentle suction. But only the head.

As both her hands cradled my balls while gently holding the shaft, she slowly drew just the head of my penis in and out of her warm, wet mouth.

Every so often she would draw her lips up to the very tip, gently drawing her teeth across the head. Then she would open her mouth and descend once again down the shaft, draw her head back up, and begin that gentle up and down sucking with just the head in her mouth.

I don't know how, but she can always tell when I'm close to cumming.

She pulled her head from my cock and began milking it with one hand while stroking my sack with the other.

"Awww -- so soon, baby? You love me that much that you can't wait to give it to me? Oh, yes," she encouraged me, gripping me more firmly as she continued to milk. "Yeah, baby. C'mon. Give it to me. Where you want it? You wanna put it on my face? C'mon baby -- put it on my face. Oh, yeah ... yeah...!"