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Winner of JO contest gets and gives blowjobs.

"Nine and a half inches long," she said. "Seven inches around. I get off just measuring it, he doesn't even need to touch me with it and I come harder than I ever have." I believed her - already she was panting, her fake tits heaving. She had one hand supporting his immense cock; with the other she was fingering her pussy and clit. "You'll have to excuse me," she said.

"We' were done anyway," I said. I wasn't sure whether I was disgusted or amused, so I just added, "I'll call if it turns out you are related to the deceased."

She nodded, but I don't think she heard me. The trainer had finally woken up. He saw Elaine before him, spread his legs wide, then noticed me. Judging by his reaction, this wasn't the first time Elaine had shown off her oversized human dildo to an unsuspecting caller. He nodded but didn't say anything. As I let myself out the door, Elaine was slowly taking his huge cock into her pussy. She was giving out a long, high Ooh, he was silent. Seemed like a nice guy.

Well, it wasn't how I had expected to distract her but I wasn't one to look a gift horse in the mouth, so to speak. I made my way through the mansion, trying doors, listening out for the maid. Finally, I found it - Murray Rodgers' study.


"You need my help? Sorry, doll, but funding a movie's a bit outside my price range and I only write one-liners for myself."

Stacy's face grew serious, and I could see tears beginning to form in the corner of her eyes. She was a pretty good actress, but this was real enough that a man with a heart would feel bad for not being kinder.

"Okay," I said. "Tell me the problem."

"The problem is I finally hit it big," she said.

"Sure, all my success has got me so daffy I can't decide which part of the office I should improve first."

"If you were funnier," she said, "maybe I wouldn't have left you." But she grinned, and I saw the tears recede. "Well the news is you're going to be seeing my face a whole lot more. First on billboards, and then as the star of a new show by ______." She named someone even I'd heard of.

"See," she said. "Even you've heard of him." Her face got sad again. "But I did something really stupid and it's going to hurt me."

Stacy had told me that, a few years earlier, before she got an agent but after she got fired from a restaurant job for slapping a big actor who'd taken a big liking to her body and felt he had better appraise it by hand, she'd posed for some naked pictures. "I was about to be on the street," she said. "And a sort of friend of mine had done it and she had a number I could call."

It was for a septuagenarian lecher called Murray Rodgers, who'd made a fortune in property and spent only a little of it getting himself a trophy wife. "He has this huge house outside the city with a studio in it. He had me send him my headshot, then invited me out."

There had been a heart-shaped bed, costumes, lingerie - but nothing sexual. He'd explained what he wanted, named a figure that would keep her landlord from evicting her, and she'd agreed. She posed and he took photo after photo, using many reels of film. The photos were nudes, erotic but not pornographic. He expressly forbade her to touch herself, and she told me the studio was especially warm apparently so that no erect nipple should suggest arousal. But while he snapped the pictures with one hand, Stacy noticed his other ferreting around in his trouser pocket. When he finally called an end to the shoot, his trousers were discoloured by a big, fresh wet patch.

"You know what it's like these days," Stacy said. "Everyone with a computer's seen Lindsay's vagina. There was that actress from that musical. And it killed their careers. Nobody minds if a picture maybe hints that it's possible that Nicole Kidman might have nipples, but if you've not made a name already?"

"You could become the next Paris Hilton," I suggested. "Just shave it all off and buy a ticket machine so you can charge admission."

"Please Joe," she said.

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