Releasing the Slut Within

The introduction of LaBelle stockings into America was a sensation, with long lines of women waiting at stores to buy them. Apparently it was though wear those stockings and a woman would get all the romantic sex she could wish for and not necessarily at railway stations.

The Bible-bashers emerged from the woodwork and many stores selling LaBelle stockings received the attention of picket lines. News editors couldn't believe that masses of people were now declaring the moral decline in America was attributable to French stockings.

Meanwhile Hilda Hope was busy generating income for her and Starre. Three top women's magazines came out with different interviews with Starre for which they paid dearly to obtain as exclusives: 'Starre's Views on Sex', Starre's Rise from a Nobody to Supermodel' and the real blockbuster, 'Starre Says Stockings Sauce Up Sex.' The Sauce Up Sex caught the imagination of (some) American women and that magazine had to treble its pressrun for that particular issue to meet demand. TV shows and talkback radio stations paid handsomely for Starre's services.

Starre was flown overnight to Paris for a half-hour televised interview in a huge theatre – screened live on a network in America in which she was interviewed by Arnaud LaBelle, TV presenter, a renown womanizer (the American TV station bleeped that mention) and elder son of a stockings manufacturer. A quarter of the studio audience were French celebrities who attend a soiree after the interviewer to honor Starre in person. That event generated enormous publicity for LaBelle stockings, the TV studio, Arnaud and Starre. Back in New York Starre knew she'd have to act fast because stardom over single-act achievement was a little like daylight – it expired all too soon.

Starre had lunch with her mentor and said she was ready to marry a billionaire.

Miss J laughed and said so a millionaire had become a billionaire. "Now you're talking girl. Just remember they are a little thin on the ground."

Starre said she knew that and had hoped Miss J could help out.

"Sorry darling, my contacts are non-existent. I know several widows of billionaires but that's of no help to you. But girl, why are you talking to me about this. Your best contact is right under you nose."

"Really, who?"

"Hilda Hope, that's who. You only see her how she looks today. She and I kicked around in the same gang when were young women. I was better looking but she had such a big pussy the guys used to ask if they could borrow it to play football. Her reputation spread and soon she was being offered more jock than she could handle so she went up-market and went for the guys who drove daddy's flash car and have wallets stuffed with his money. I would think some of those young guys are today's billionaires. Go chat with your agent darling."

Hilda snorted: "Janis Brooks told you that?"

"Who?"

"Miss Jacqui or Miss J or whoever she calls herself. I grew up with her in Boston. More times that I can remember she scored with three or four guys in a night and that's not counting groupies because we didn't ever tinker with them. She was so hot she didn't wear panties because they'd burn straight off her and anyway she never had much time to get them back on."

"You're kidding me. Are we talking about the same person? The Miss J I know is a lady, so elegant."

"You and I are talking about the same person. It's just that I knew she picked you up at JFK and placed you under training but you quit, so I thought it would be embarrassing to you if I brought up the shaky start to your career."

"Ohmigod, the two women most influential in my life apart from my mom are formerly the biggest sluts in Boston's history."

"I very much doubt that. Look one of my former lovers who became a billionaire is avionics manufacturer Biggles Johnston but he's only just married for the seventh time. Leave this with me and I'll give it some thought.

Two days later Hilda showed a list of seven names to Starre and shook her head sadly. One name was circled. "Five of those others are deceased and the other is jailed for life."

"So we have one."

"Yep, Paul Ridge. Currently between marriages, gets around on a walking frame and is only fifty-six. Suffered a severe ski accident two years ago and has had only partially successful spinal surgery."

"Well, I suppose that's not too bad."

"Children?"

"None – apparently sterile."

"Right, set up a date for us to meet. You better accompany me."

"Will try but it might be a long wait. Half a million women, give or take a few, are attempting to marry him."

"Oh crap."

"When he sees my name on the waiting list he'll push us up the waiting list."

"Wow, what did you do for him?"

Hilda turned red and told Starre to shut her mouth.

Starre asked how did Paul make his money?

"Manufacturing dog and cat foods."

"Oh yuck. How can I associate with a man who made his money like that?"

"Look at it this way, dogs and cats have to eat."

"You're right Hilda. Please set up a meeting for us."

"Good, I'll also enclose a DVD of your Stockings clips."

The next morning Hilda was breathless when she called Starre. "Lunch with him at 1:00 today."

"Who? Paul. I cannot believe this. I have an asthma attack coming on."

The upshot of that luncheon was a month later Paul Ridge and Hilda married.

CHAPTER 3

Starre went to Hilda's funeral. Paul was now permanently in a wheel chair after suffering more spinal injury in the car crash that had killed his chauffer and Hilda. Paul had noticed Starre arrived early to view the body and was captivated – he'd say later quite the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen crying. Paul had asked Starre to sit with him at the commitment to hold his hand.

"There are other women more willing than I to do that."

"But none were Hilda's friend like you were."

Starre burst into tears and said she would sit with him and Paul said he'd order in another wheelchair.

A month later they married with Orion and their family attending the small, private service. Only eighteen months later Starre would inherit $1052 million after disbursements including taxes and bequests to charities. Paul had been in his wheelchair watching Starre making her first parachute jump when one of the novice's parachute only partially opened and he landed on Paul, killing him outright, but the soft landing saved the parachutist's life.

The bizarre death generated huge media attention and Starre went to ground, staying with a widowed aunt in a sleepy town were nearby New York seemed a million miles away because it was a farming district. Miss J who'd being terribly upset at the funeral called Starre three weeks after the tragedy and said she was going to Boston to visit old acquaintances of Hilda's and talked Starre is going with her. Starre had hired a very respected financial company to manager her financial affairs with instructions to liquidate all her properties and to invest in stock and securities in Europe, Australia and South Africa as her advisers had recommended she should spread her risks. That also put a barrier between her and people and organizations begging for money and of course disappearing helped with that. She engaged a personal assistant, working from home, to deal with all correspondence addressed to her, Paul and Paul's estate.

Starre caught a train and met Miss J in her limo and they were then driven on to Boston, Miss J making one particular stop to encourage Starre to change into very ordinary clothing and to buy dark glasses and wide-brim hats and to change her lip gloss to very dull red. Even Starre had to admit she looked dowdy – not a person worth a second look. Miss J was already dressed down and had arranged with her chauffer to switch to a hired base model Chevy sedan when they arrived in Boston.

At they drove along Miss J said, "Your life becomes gray and you become listless when someone close to you dies, doesn't it?"

"Yes," Starre said. "Although Paul was aware I married him for his money he was kind, we often had sex and I came to really respect him, not love him. I guess he was more like an uncle to me."

"Well baby, he was proud of you and it showed. You brought back friends he'd lost through the bitchiness of former wives. But let's not dwell on Paul. You need some young blood around you to heat up your interest in your pussy."

"I guess so."

"Well don't drown me in enthusiasm."

The plan was to stay in Miss J's small house she maintained in Boston but on the way she stopped to say hello to Mary Woodhouse who lived in a mansion with her husband, their children long gone. So Miss J decided they would stay there and there was even suitable accommodation for the chauffer.

When being introduced to Mary as Lara, Jacqui's traveling personal assistant, Starre became acutely aware of something she already knew called age gap. All these women and some guys Miss J would be looking up where around her age – sixty-two – whereas she'd turn only thirty towards the end of the year. Not good. Strangely in the six and a half years she'd known Miss J, the aged gap had never loomed like this. Well, obvious Miss J thought and dressed young because she spent her life being associated with younger females, some as young as sixteen.

Mary, a surgeon's wife and she a recently retired school principal, broached the subject.

"Lara, you'll be bored stiff when we old girls get together to chew cud. Would it be agreeable if I call my pool guy who's having a year off university lecturing before he resumes studying for his doctorate to take you to a movie or whatever?"

"Whatever?"

"Mary means parking."

Mary laughed and said Jacqui had an unusual mind. "I meant alternatives such as art galleries, theatre, ball games – whatever young people do."

"Please don't mention parking to him. I feel I'm rather too old for that."

The two women looked at Lara (Starre) and laughed.

Mary called Tom and he was knocking on the door inside twenty minutes, smartly dressed and told Mary he was ready to take her visitor to the movies.

Tom Kirby with unruly blond hair around his shoulders and incredibly green eyes looked at Lara and before Mary had time to introduce him said. "Jesus."

Mary looked concerned and asked Tom what was wrong.

"She's Starre Haar. I have a nude poster of you Starre taken during a break during the stockings shoot."

Starre was of course not wearing her dark glasses or hat.

"How much nude?"

"Absolute full frontal and at that time you trimmed rather than shaved. Your left foot has blue nail polish and your right foot pink."

Miss J said, "Yes, it's true she is the wealthy model Starre Haar, but she is traveling incognito to get away from the pain and the people who pester her. Mary and Tom, I want you to keep your mouths shut. Starre get ready quickly and go off with Tom. Wear a scarf over your head and wear dark glasses except when the movie starts."

"I promise not to tell a soul," said Tom and Mary said she promised likewise – at least not until Starre left Boston.

Tom's car was powerful and beautifully appointed.

"You are doing well as a student."

"I have worked as a junior lecturer at a technical college for eighteen months."

"What is you degree?"

Tom said his masters was in chemical engineering, not something Starre would have an interest in.

"Oh I suppose I do, in a roundabout way. I believe I'm the largest individual stockholder in Baylis-Ryan Chemicals in this city. Do you know that outfit?"

"Sure do. I worked two semesters at that plant. It's a good outfit as you call it."

Tom was surprised to learn Starre had a degree in communications, taking a double major in advertising and public relations.

"So, not just a pretty face."

"Likewise," she grinned, at that point knowing if he wanted her to open her legs later, she would oblige.

The movie was a cute romantic film set in Paris and involving a stubborn French woman and a casual American guy and Tom and Starre emerged smiling and when pushed a little in the crush found themselves holding hands and neither moved to let go when the crowd thinned outside the cinema.

"Would you like to dine out?"

"And then what?"

Tom blushed at her directness but continued on manfully. "That would depend on you."

"The alternative is to go straight to a hotel – it's on me."

"Great idea," he grinned and moved in and kissed her. Starre liked that.

"It's still fair early. Could you go to a hotel with a pool?"

"Yeah, the Boston Harbor Hotel has a great pool and spa set-up, according to my mom."

"Good, there's a clothing store still open. Let's go and buy swimsuits. We are well enough dressed to dine in the restaurant or we can eat in the room – silver service if you wish."

"On step at the time, eh? Swim suits first."

They'd admired each other's body at the pool before taking the plunge, knowing that was likely to lead to sex because why else were they there? There was plenty of casual touching, only twice being accidental, and finishing off in the hot spa pool the long stares lengthened and the touching intensified until Starre felt one of her breasts had been freed so pushed it to Tom for attention. She reached down under the wildly bubbling surface of the small pool and really got Tom's attention, bringing a stupid grin to his face when he came up from licking tit flesh.

They cooled off enough to dress and go to the restaurant where the tables seemed rather close together but they'd passed through the stage of groping and instead talked and ate with the purpose of taking plenty of fuel aboard. Both went easy on the wine, Tom surprised by mentioning he often went for days without drinking alcohol, leaving Starre wondering how that was possible. She drunk wine because she always had, since her early teens and of course for years earlier there were stolen sips from the glasses of super-tolerant parents, both of whom came from family lines with slack social standards. Her mother Toss was very unfashionable, being openly hippy-like through the strong influence of mother and grandmother. Somehow Starre turned out to be a distant throwback, exposing a consuming interest in fashion and style at an early age that her mom, being super-tolerant, encouraged rather than suppressed.

"Shall we do it?" Tom asked, making Starre's pulse rate. Starre took his arm and curled her other arm around his back and hooked into his belt to ensure Tom had focus and didn't suggest they go out and look at the harbor in the moonlight. She breathed easy, feeling herself being almost dragged to the elevators. She was wearing only a dress so was nude first and Tom racing was delayed by unbuckling and at the end removing his socks and that told Starre something: he had good habits. Tom took the time to work the tops down over his ankles and remove his socks gently instead of jerking them off by grabbing the toes and stretching them and then grabbing his cock and charging. No, he waited, poised almost on his toes. Only when she raised her arms above her head and push out her boobs did he advance, gently.

Tom was good. He played around with her until she was panting and when she was ready to scream "Put it in!" that's when he did it.

Perfect.

Starre felt ready to tingle that night, ranging from turning slightly so he rubbed more sensitive spots inside her to placing her hand over his to sweep back her hair that kept falling over her face, slowing the pace of his hand so that it because a sensuous action that tingled her.

She came way too early, but that was because she was being treated royally and there was plenty where that came from. When she came off the ceiling Tom said, "Wow, that was early. I'll stop if you wish."

"Oh, what a delightful lover, yes lover but no way did she want him to stop. She picked up her thrusting rate without replying to the question and bit his shoulder, gently. The message was unmistakable and he settled into his work. When he began puffing and turning red Starre pulled away and lay on her back, looking expectantly and the dear man knew what that was about. Two tugs and he began hosing her, quite impressively, one of the bursts making it to her chest. Starre took on the soft smile she knew men including her brother liked at moments like this.

As Starre rubbed the semen over her breast she saw a pleased and possibly tender look take to his eyes and face. She suspected she had captivated Tom. A big question: was it her and the sex or was it her and her money? She knew that fucking dilemma would now always confront her, even when she married and gave the lucky guy several millions as pocket money. Well, get used to it baby, she sighed.

They rested and chatted until she slipped an arm over Tom's thigh and fiddled to work him up hard again. Then he rolled her, kicked her legs apart and opening her cheeks with his hands kissed, licked and munched. She bucked and squealed – of course. But she was desperately displeased and wanted to shout, 'No Tom, not a butt-fuck on our first date; save it for a night when we require something special'. But she didn't say it, deciding to grit it out. But the next thing she knew he'd spread her thighs really open and entered her conventionally. She practically purred as she thought good boy Tom. His long, regular strokes soon had her soaring and they finally climaxed softly, beautifully, less than twenty seconds apart. Tom rolled off, they made kissing sounds and drifted off to sleep.

Tom wasn't beside her when Starre awoke in the morning and she couldn't hear him in the bathroom so she wept and went back to sleep. A maid knocked and entered with a breakfast trolley at 10:00 and handed her a sealed letter on hotel stationery.

Starre sighed. So he'd done a runner. Feeling hungry she hoed into breakfast and then had a shower and dressed and before doing her hair ripped open the note, not even bothering to scowl. This was not the first time this had happened. Ever since earliest man had gotten his first fuck, men had the urge to run out on women. Er, some men.

'Dear darling. That was such a sweet night. Memorable to the core. I forget to tell you I also work part-time at a local gym as a personal trainer and my first appointment is at 6:00 this morning. Hope to take you out tonight if you are available and want to go a party of fellow lecturers from my tech. They will be loud and rowdy, the whole scene devoid of class and style. But they are good people and only a few are into drugs. You may enjoy – but if that's not for you we can go somewhere else. God you are great at sex. Your weary Tom.'

Two days later, with Starre beginning to wonder if Tom really was Mr Right she took a call from Orion. He said the baby was near due and Helen was extremely unsettled and her mother, two sisters and none of her friends had been able to keep her calm for long. Helen had just told him she wanted Starre to be with her.

"Please darling, can you come?"

"Yes, I'll be heading for the airport within the hour and wait till I can get a seat."

"First class usually has empty seats."

"That I know. Please tell Helen I'm on my way."

It was Saturday and Tom had arrived to lunch with her, Mary, her husband and Miss J. Starre told them about the SOS and the reason for it and everyone was sympathetic. Tom rushed her to the airport. She was so tense she said she didn't want him to stay. When Tom walked away from her, shoulders no longer straight and he not looking back, Starre had the feeling it was the end. Tom would be one of those guys who wanted it all...or nothing.

"He calls me a great fuck and then appears ready to reject me because I have a short-term commitment. Fucking men!"

Happiness returned when at the booking counter Starre was told she would be embarking in two hours fifteen minutes. She went to a restaurant to eat, tending to want to really eat when sad.