Her Most Beautiful

It had become routine for her, a chore in fact. Each day, from ten in the morning until noon, she lay on the lounger beside the cyan pool, turning every half hour as if she were an exquisite piece of meat to be evenly cooked to perfection.

She and Lawrence did not live in a particularly hot area - indeed, were it not for the nearly total lack of rainfall, temperate would be the ideal description. Her two hours a day kept her erstwhile pale skin a light caramel colour, the only patches the two small triangles that covered her nipples and the larger delta surrounding the delicate flesh of her pussy.

Her hair was naturally rich brown, and her lengthy soaks in the sun had only lightened it imperceptibly. Her skin was acclimatised too, and she had not touched a bottle of sun lotion in years. She hardly even sweated any more, just lay perfectly still and listened to her latest iPod without hint of expression, with no smile or frown to bring life to her face.

There was a time she could no longer remember, when this numbness had not swaddled her so perfectly. Hard to believe, lying here now, that she and Lawrence had been married for almost ten years. In the Swiss clockwork of her life, each moment was catalogued with oiled perfection - but those moments did not sum.

Whatever sins Lawrence might commit in the future, his greatest would always be that he created the first reality television show. It had started about two years before they met and was called "The Apartment". Lawrence had come up with the brilliant idea of taking an aspiring young actress or model and having them move in with an unsuspecting member of the public.

How it worked was they found someone, always a guy and usually a guy in his twenties, who was looking for a roommate and they sent the actress in, with a hidden camera obviously, to try and get the place. Lawrence had once explained it to her. "Guy sees a hot little blonde chick with great tits and a tight ass, who do you think he's gonna pick?" Once the actress had got the room, the technical crew went in and set up hidden cameras all around the house. The cameras in the bathroom proved particularly popular.

They usually kept filming for about a month, which gave them about 16 episodes and a couple of tapes - now DVDs - the biggest seller being the X-rated version featuring the aspiring actress in the nude, showering and once, famously, masturbating furiously in front of the bathroom mirror. All the girls were desperate and none of them had gone on to the glittering Hollywood career they had naively assumed the show would bring them. Carrie LaBelle had been the most desperate.

She had got out of the shower one morning and had slowly dried herself, patting at her full breasts and delicately sawing the small towel she had chosen over the thick blonde hair covering her pussy. Then Carrie had sensuously fellated each of the fingers on her right hand and swirled them around her bush before spreading the lips of her pussy and shoving four fingers inside. She had fucked herself brutally, enjoying the rough contours of her make-believe cock. Her hand was contorted strangely; she managed to simultaneously stimulate her clit and her g-spot. Moments after she had begun, she started to moan and had to brace herself against the sink with her left hand. Her small brown nipples were rocks capping her round breasts and her cheeks were flushed dark red. She began to gasp over and over, "Oh my pussy. Oh my pussy."

Carrie came and - amazingly - ejaculated, spraying the juice of her pussy against the mirror. She collapsed on the sink, breasts swaying on cold porcelain, hot breath fogging the mirror.

Of course they couldn't broadcast it, but everyone knew what was going to be on the video and it sold astonishingly. The girl, Carrie, had also tried to fuck her roommate but it turned out poor research had allowed them to pick a gay man. She went on to increasingly diminishing success in porn films.

The real mystery was why the men the show required as butts of its joke allowed it to be broadcast - Lawrence needed their permission. No-one but the show's makers knew why, though several newspapers had carried stories suggesting that the actress was required to convince her roommate to let the show air.

Before "The Apartment", Lawrence was a nobody producer making low-budget sci-fi and arty pilots that didn't sell. Now he was a multimillionaire whose name was synonymous with reality TV. She had met him when he gave a talk at the college she was attending.

Lawrence had been drunk on success, money coming in all around, his every idea heralded as brilliant the moment it was conceived. He lectured wildly, going off on mad tangents, his language richly allusive. She was eighteen and innocent, and immediately fell in love with him.

After the lecture a bunch of them had stayed to talk to the great TV mogul, but it was her that had caught his eye. She was shorter than he was: tall at 5'11" but Lawrence was 6'6". Her hair was shoulder length, but she kept it piled up on her head, letting only a few strands fall to brush against her cheeks. Her eyes were dark and set back beneath her smooth brow, making her look mysterious. Her nose was wide and her lips plump and pale. They ended up back at his hotel.

She went to the bathroom to undress, her bra and panties scattered pools of colour on the shining white tile floor, her dress hung on the hook on the back of the door. She looked at herself in the mirror and breathed out long and slow before quietly unlocking the door and stepping out. Lawrence had dimmed the lights.

The fluorescents from the bathroom lit her from behind, limning her outline in pale gold, the natural highlights in her dark hair glinting. Her body was slender, slight. Her breasts were broad curves, uplifting lightly from her chest, her inch-wide nipples so perfectly pink and smooth they seemed to shine like plastic. In the light her left breast cast a small shadow over the upper swell of her belly. Her body curved in the Platonic ideal of woman, the swells of her breasts narrowing into her flat stomach and back out, widening at her hips. Her abdomen curved in as it approached her pussy, which was smothered in a thick thatch of tangled dark brown curls. She was 18 years old and the epitome of beauty.

She couldn't move, and Lawrence got off the bed and came to her. He had taken his shirt off, and his shoes and socks, and now wore only his jeans. He kissed her, gently pressing against her mouth, enjoying its rich moistness. With infinite care he fluttered his tongue against those plush lips, which she parted for him. His tongue entered her mouth and slowly lapped about it. He broke the kiss. She moaned in disappointment and he smiled, pressed a finger to her mouth to shush her.

He laid a trail of butterfly kisses down the side of her face and neck, a saliva guide to lead him back. His kisses lengthened and slowed as he reached the taut skin of her chest. When he reached the tops of her breasts, each kiss seemed to last an eternity as he lapped and sucked at her ripe flesh. He kissed his way further down, the flesh giving more and more as her breasts grew fuller. At last, he reached the plumpest flesh, upon which the nipple peaked. Arbitrarily he had chosen to start with her right breast, and as his lips closed on the nipple he marvelled at its brittle hardness. He was bent over her now and as he sucked her nipple, his hands rested on the round swell of her ass, not exploring but just enjoying the feel.

Her breathing was rapid, and her shoulders rested against the wall with it, her body and the floor forming a triangle. Lawrence sucked on her left nipple with all the eagerness and delicacy he had expended on the right one and she thought she would immolate with pleasure. Almost involuntarily her hands buried themselves in his thick black hair.

He was not done yet, though - not nearly done. He continued the march of his kisses, travelling down her body and finally stopping at the upper edge of her bush. He knelt now, hands still cupping her ass possessively, and breathed in the fresh smell of her pussy. For some things there are no metaphor, at least no meaningful one, but to Lawrence the pussy of this 18 year old girl, 10 years his junior, smelled like everything good in life. He breathed out heavily, letting the air blow over her pussy, which was already wet. He knew some men who wouldn't go down on a girl unless she shaved her pussy - he didn't understand that, liked the taste and texture of bush. He kissed her down there then slowly parted her labia with his tongue.

Lawrence, unlike most men, had no concerns about the size of his cock. His concern was the size of his tongue. It was quite wide, but he could only extend it about an inch beyond his mouth. Because of this he had spent countless hours perfecting his technique and few men gave better head than him. He employed all his skill now, bringing her to the very peaks of pleasure without letting her cum. He kept her on that fine edge for aeons, until her pleasure overcame her restraint and she was screaming with pleasure and bucking her hips against his face.

He stood quickly, and picked her up. He carried her to the bed and laid her down, then took off his jeans. She looked with amazement at his cock, the first she had ever seen. It was about as long as her hand and looked, for most of its length, too wide for her to close her hand around it. The last inch was thicker and rounder than the rest and throbbed redly at her. Lawrence rolled onto her and guided the head to the lips of her pussy. He looked at her, all concern, and she bit her lip and nodded. He plunged it into her in one go, and she felt a ragged pop as he took her virginity. They lay like that for some time - perhaps moments, perhaps minutes - and then, as pain fled and pleasure returned, he began to thrust into her, slow long strokes that withdrew his cock to the very mouth of her cunt before burying it within her once more.

As they fucked, his pace increased and she began to moan again. Over and over she moaned his name quietly, breathing her gratitude and ecstasy into his ear. He was groaning now and panting with the effort of their lovemaking. She felt her orgasm building, and though the cunnilingus had been extraordinary, this just felt so much fuller and richer and better. They came at the same moment, his cum flooding her cunt as she screamed her orgasm at the ceiling and scored his back with her nails. Lawrence never wore condoms - he could never cum with that rubber sheath between his cock and the lush flesh of a woman's pussy.

For a month and a half they fucked and dated until finally they just accepted it and she dropped out of college and they got married. The problems started about two years later, when Lawrence's incessant and contiguous string of infidelities began. It wasn't that he didn't love her, though he didn't. Rather it was that he was at the top of his position - no longer just the czar of reality television, but a powerful force across the entire spectrum of the industry. Not only were certain opportunities presented to him, but for the sake of image he was more or less expected to accept them.

She and Lawrence did not live in LA. He kept two apartments there - one in which he nominally lived, in case she should visit, and another in which he spent most of his nights. In the second flat, his most expensive accessory was an 18-year old blonde girl. They had to be tall, though shorter than him, with enormous breasts and empty heads. He kept each one for a year and then, on their nineteenth birthday gave them $50,000, an apartment and a small role on one of his shows, all of which they typically lost within a few months.

She knew of the affairs and the girls of course. Such a thing is impossible to hide, and in any case Lawrence had not touched her intimately for four years.

She had spent the long, measureless years of their marriage slowly eroding away. She had no career, and few friends. Their household was managed by staff, and there were no children to occupy her time. Her one task was to look attractive for a man who didn't touch her and - more and more rarely - to dangle from his arm at awards shows.

She suddenly realised that she was sitting in utter quiet and was amused that her languorous reflections had been interrupted not by unexpected noise but by unexpected silence. She checked and saw that the battery in her iPod had died. That's when she noticed Ramon and, more pertinently, the prominent bulge in Ramon's denim shorts.

Ramon was the son of their gardener, and sometimes helped out when he was home from college. Right now he was planting shrubs in the beds surrounding the pool, scooping away earth with a small grey trowel and selecting the plants carefully from an overflowing wheelbarrow. He was bent down facing her, and his erection was pointed towards her. He caught her looking and blushed; turned away and adjusted himself. Unfortunately for Ramon, all this did was allow her to see the full length of his cock, which formed a thick column along the front of his shorts. Perhaps a minute passed before he hurriedly got up and wheeled the barrow away as if his work was complete.

It had been so long since she had had sex that it took her fully ten minutes to realise that it had been watching her that had caused Ramon's impressive hard-on. It took her that long to realise that, though her husband didn't, a man - and a young man at that - could still find her attractive. And after that thought, she quickly realised that she hadn't had an orgasm in two whole years. That her husband's disdain for her body had infected her to the point where she didn't even care to touch herself anymore. She surveyed her figure.

Her breasts had perhaps got a little fuller during the ten years of her marriage, though at 28 she still didn't require a bra. Her hips and ass were a little wider too, but again not by much. A slight smile, the first in longer than she would believe had she thought about it, spread over her lush lips.

She went inside the house and watched from the kitchen window until Ramon returned. He glanced stealthily around and, once he was sure she was gone, went back to planting the shrubs. With nothing on her feet she sneaked out a side door and walked quietly up behind him and tapped him on the shoulder.

He was startled, but he was even more startled when he turned and saw his father's boss's wife standing completely nude in front of him. His eyes feasted on the full breasts and thick bush that he had fantasised about moments earlier as he had jerked off under the trees. His cock was already fully hard.

It was unlikely that any of the staff would come to get her, but she didn't care. She was going to fuck Ramon right here. She pushed him back and sprawled on top of him, her breasts crushed against his muscular chest. Her pussy had been wet since she had stripped watching from the kitchen - indeed her juices had spattered the floor - and she could feel his enormous cock pressing against it. She kissed him violently as her hands tore off the shorts then feasted adoringly on his length. She wiggled her hips around until she managed to position her pussy on his cock, then thrust down.

He filled her completely, smothered her with his huge cock and she lay enjoying the sensation. Ramon was too shocked to do anything - he just lay there as this impossibly beautiful woman pleasured herself with his cock. She began to thrust, and she wondered how she hadn't missed something this good. But then, after perhaps three strokes, Ramon came and his cock shrivelled away and popped out of her.

She collapsed on top of him and sighed, the joy fleeing her face and body. "I'm... I'm sorry," said Ramon. She told him it was okay, but as she quickly climbed off him it was obvious she didn't mean it. She walked back to the house nude, Ramon's cum dripping out of her. She realised it was probably his first time, and a part of her felt bad for not making it better for him (she thought back to her first time, with Lawrence, and almost regretted what she had done). Mostly, though, she felt cheated out of her orgasm from that beautiful big cock. She put on her bikini bottoms and fell asleep on the sofa.

"Oh god, I'm sorry ma'am," said the man in the suit.

She blinked rapidly several times and managed to choke out the words, "Sorry for what?" She always felt awful after a nap, thick and crusted.

"Well, um, you're naked."

"Oh," she said, and took the throw off the back of the sofa and wrapped it around her chest. More lucid now, a question occurred to her. "Who are you?" she asked.

"I'm a police detective, ma'am. Lieutenant Sheffield." He was shorter than her, all muscle. He seemed uncomfortable in the suit but moved well nevertheless, as if his every muscle were under complete control. His fair hair was thinning on top of his head and cut short at the sides.

"What's the matter?" she asked. "Is something wrong with Lawrence?"

"Ma'am," the policeman said gently, "I'm afraid your husband was involved in a carjacking. He was shot and killed immediately."

She woke up to find herself in the living room with a man in a suit holding her hand. For some reason she was wearing a throw. Then she remembered exactly what had happened and started to sob. The policeman put an arm around her. The rocking of her body dislodged the throw and his hand ended up resting against the swell of her breast. She leaned in to him, wrapping her arms around him and realised he had an erection.

"I really need to be with someone right now," she said.

"I understand," said Sheffield. "I can stay as long as you need."

"That's not quite what I meant." She undid his fly and pulled out his cock. She bent over it and wrapped her tongue along the underside and palpated the top with her upper lip. His cock was nothing like Ramon's freakish size, but it was vastly more than adequate. He protested weakly, but the sight of her big brown eyes looking up at him while she suckled on his cock silenced him. He threw her back on the sofa and stripped off the bikini panties. He feasted on her cunt and his attentions brought her to a quick and nasty orgasm.

Now she pushed him back and licked her way right up his body, past his legs, flicking quickly over his balls and his cock and over his scarred and battered torso until her tongue slipped into his mouth. She grabbed the head of his cock with her hand and aligned it with her pussy lips.

"Do you have any protection?" he asked. She shook her head and mounted him anyway.

Remembering Ramon she fucked him fast, her pubis thumping against him rapidly. She quickly came again, though Sheffield did not. When she was done, he rolled her over and began to stroke in and out more slowly until she came once more. His orgasm followed shortly after and he lay on top of her, his sweat and hers mingling and cooling on their skin like soft icy kisses. "That was incredible," he said. She just kissed him and hugged him with her arms and legs until he had to leave.

Sheffield was back the very next day, his face mime white.

"We just got the autopsy results back from your husband. Did you know he had AIDS?"

She was surprised and let him see it. If it were possible, his face got even paler. "We didn't use protection last night. Tell me you and he practised safe sex," Sheffield begged her, his hands clenched painfully around her forearms.

"Actually we didn't," she said. "Lawrence couldn't cum if he was wearing a condom."

Sheffield collapsed into a chair and put his face in his hands. She took pity on him.

"We also haven't had sex in four years."

Of course she would still have to be tested, but she knew those tests would come up clean. So that was why Lawrence hadn't touched her in so long - it was almost sweet of him. Thinking about it, she realised she almost felt bad about hiring that man to shoot him.