Brett first lost his virginity when he was fifteen,
working as a prop-boy for Atlantic record’s photo
department. He would help set up shots for album covers,
or would occasionally get to help with make-up.

Usually these were tedious jobs; he usually got stuck
with the other boys hauling about the heaviest
furniture, or smearing spirit glue over some middle-
aged, washed-out punk singer’s shining head so that they
could get the toupee to stay on his head. Mostly only
the older people got to do the artistic work (Like
powdering Mariah Carey’s bustline.)

This was not to be the case this day. If Brett had been
learning the ropes before, in the next few hours, he
would scale ropes to orgasmic heights he never even
believed possible.

This day they were doing a Tori Amos shoot. They started
work at seven, setting up a dreary-looking Southern
diorama consisting of a rickety wheelchair on the worm-
eaten porch of a well-weathered southern hovel. The
heaviest things to be set up were the walls and the base
of the porch, and even those were done in a few minutes.

At nine the photographers hauling their heavy equipment
came along with an animal trainer who bore with him in
dog carriers a few boa constrictors and a piglet.

At ten, after the boys were allowed a brief break, a few
of the company executives showed up, and at twelve Ms.
Amos herself. She was the most beautiful thing he’d ever
seen. A wisp of orange hair above a gorgeously curved
face with full, crimson lips and large eyes.

Her sleeveless shirt and cutoff jeans complimented the
gorgeous curve of her body, and left bare a bit of the
lush, folded valley between her breasts, and her navel –
-a luscious jewel laden in fresh, opaline milk. Between
her army boots and her cutoffs were two gorgeous legs.
She came in perfectly nonchalant, with purse, sunglasses
and a Taco Bell cup.

“When do we start, boys?” She asked, walking up to the
manager.

“As soon as you’re ready, Ms. Amos.” He replied. “We
have your costume waiting for you in your dressing
room.”

“Cool.” She said, already on her way backstage. They
waited around for nearly half an hour until Tori
returned in a simple and rather drab, but still
revealing grey bare-shoulders wrap-around and purple
skirt, equally drab which, when parted, though not
pornographic, revealed the greater part of her lower
body. The almost colorless material sort of fit into the
rather overcast scene, Brett thought.

“Okay” The executive said; “Now just sit down on the
chair. Drape your legs over the armrest there. There,
now that’s good! Can someone give her the gun please?”

Tori looked at the shotgun they passed to her.

“What the hell do I need with this?”

“It’s for, how do you say, genre, for the mood, Ms.
Amos. Can I call you Tori? Tori, then. Now, we’re almost
ready to shoot… but, oh, can you take off your boots
please?”

Tori looked, nonplussed, at her army boots. “What?”

“Can you please take off your boots?”

Dubious, she kicked them off. “And my socks?”

“Of course.”

She slid these off too, revealing perfectly shaped, lush
feet. A lackey from wardrobe took the boots and the
socks away.

“Hmmm…” The executive said; “No, still not quite
right. They should be a bit more… you know, dreary,
foreboding. Perhaps someone could smear a bit of mud
over them?”

“Mud??” Tori growled.

“Don’t worry, Ms. Amos. It’ll only be make-up.” A
wardrobe higher-up placated.

“Yes.” The executive said, tapping his index finger
against his Rolex; “That will do.”

Tori sighed and shrugged reluctant surrender.

“Make-up boy!” The higher-up, an ornery woman he knew as
O’Donnell shouted, pointing to him; “Go smear some umber
number nine over Ms. Amos’s feet and legs!”

Brett started… HIM? On HER?

“Get going.” His supervisor prodded him.

He stumbled forward, taking a bucket of #9 from a
wardrobe girl. She looked at him with a pitying shrug.
He walked up the stairs of the set-porch, right up to
Ms. Amos. He noticed for the first time that she was
very short and petite, about five or six inches shorter
than he. He slowly picked up her foot, placing it in his
shaking palm. It was very beautiful. The toes were
large, but not stocky, the nails painted with a sort of
fused pink. They didn’t smell at all either. He sort of
gave it a few massaging strokes before the executive
called out; “Go on! Use enough too!”

Tori looked down at him with a smile and a wink. “Looks
like we’re in the same boat, boy.” Her voice was as
beautiful and melodic when she whispered as when she
sang.

Umber #9 was a thick, powdery brown, and it came in a
tin with a large glove for smearing. It was usually used
for dramatic productions, to put dirt on weary soldier’s
faces or to insinuate refuse on beggars or prisoners.

He donned the glove in his right hand and began to run
it over Ms. Amos’s foot, getting it between her toes and
rubbing it all the way up her gorgeous leg. God her feet
were divine; all ripe, soft white flesh. He wanted to
sink those toes into his mouth and ram them in and out
like they were a swollen…

Did her other toe just rub up against his rock-hard
boner? It was all he could do to keep himself from
either blushing or cumming. Maybe both. Slowly, as his
job was done, he backed down the steps. The animal
handler set up the boas around the chair and around the
dry grass about the porch, and the cameramen shot away.

The executive instructed Tori to take a number of
different poses, each one rather strategic to get her to
show a bit of leg or cleavage, but she was smarter than
him, and almost always countered him with a quick turn
or a tuck of the cloth.

They replaced the gun with the piglet, and had her
coddle it like a child. Finally, the executive said,
they were done for the day.

“Hang on.” She said. “Load in another roll, boys. I’ve
got a shot for you.”

The executive looked surprised.

“Does anyone have a bit of milk or cream?” One of the
older set designers held out a cream puff, which she
took. With one quick tug, she pulled one gorgeous tit
free of her fabric, and lavished a pinky full of whipped
cream over the large, round nipple. She handed the puff
back with a smile.

The executive couldn’t take his eye off. Brett, and
probably every other cock-barer in the house, wished
she’d ask them to lick it off. Instead she guided the
piglet’s mouth to the nipple, and sat back satisfied as
it nursed away. Slowly, the cameramen shot their poses.

She’d won. The shoot was over, and she sat up, her
breast restored to her wrap-around, on the rickety old
chair, defiant. The executive left, red-faced, followed
by a convoy of wide-eyed and half-disgusted, half-
intrigued photographer and wardrobe people.

“We’ll, uh, take care of the set tomorrow, boys.” The
supervisor said. “That’s a.. a wrap.”

“Hold it, boy.” Ms. Amos said as the others took off;
“you’re not done yet.”

“M… me?” Brett asked.

“Yeah.” She said. “You made the mess, you clean it up.”

He walked in a daze up the steps. Slowly, he extended
his hand and she put her foot in it.

“What do you want me to wash it with?”

“Lick it clean.”

“What?” He couldn’t believe this was happening.

“Lick it clean, boy.” She said. “You know you want to.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He went after those
toes like a piece of meat, digging his tongue down into
the little crevices while Tori moaned and sighed.

Finally, she lifted him up on to her, giving him an
ample taste of those full lips.

“I imagined when I was doing that shoot that maybe you
were the piglet, or maybe that I was.” She pulled
Brett’s shirt over his head, chomping at his nipples,
which sang with electric glee. “I’ve had a lot of girls
before, and a lot of guys.” She said. “But young guys
always please me the most. They want so much to make me
happy.”

“Yeah.” Brett said, trying to catch his breath. “Oh
yeah.”

He head his pants unzip. He could feel the pressure of
her hand and the fabric of his underwear as she stroked
his dick. She had his dick in her hands now. She stroked
it lightly, running a finger around the glistening head.

“This deserves to be loved… to be worshipped.” She
said. In one single, fluid movement, she shoved his dick
up to her mouth and sucked it in. He almost screamed
with exhilaration as she cloyed it with her tongue and
teeth.

“You’re a virgin, aren’t you?” She asked, letting his
dick rest on her chin.

“Yes.” He said. “Oh yes.”

“Then let’s do this memorable, boy. Let’s do it on the
floor.”

She nimbly leapt down, while he stumbled to the floor.
She forced him to a lying position, and filled his mouth
with a tit. It was a wonderful, soft texture, and a
soft, perfumed flavor.

“Use your teeth.” She said.

He nibbled first on all the tit he could fit into his
mouth, and then on the nipple. She gasped for air.
Suddenly, her mouth was over his dick again, pounding it
in and out.

“Suck my feet.” She gasped. “Lick my feet, you cock.”

He did as he was told, lapping at her waiting toes like
a dog. Suddenly, his balls filled with fluid and he
spewed all over her mouth. He made it with Tori Amos.

She gathered him up in her arms and held him for a
little while next to her breast. Finally, she said she
had to go. Reluctantly, he got up, and watched the
sacred bulk supporting his head walk towards the door.

“Want to do it again later?” She asked.

“Yeah!” He replied as quickly as the words would get out
of his mouth.

“Good.” She said. “Meet me at the Hilton. Room 302 at
8:00.”

Ms. Amos was already buck nude and waiting for Brett in
the giant suite. She instructed him to don the
appropriate clothing (Being none.) and to meet him in
the bedroom.

Brett tore off his clothes, and walked towards the
bedroom. As he turned the knob, he was surprised to find
it was locked. Was this some sort of joke? Was Tori a
man-hater after all?

“I’ve got a favor to ask you, Brett.”

“Anything.”

“I need you to turn me on.”

“Sure!”

“I want you to make love to another person while I
watch!”

Wow! Hadn’t she said she was bi? He would get to make
love to not only her, but some other celebrity!

“Are we agreed?” She asked.

“Sure!” He insisted. She opened the door. Before him was
a Brian, a young coworker from the studio. He stared
into Brian’s equally confused eyes.

“Go on.” Tori said; “Get on the bed together.”

Brett complied, climbing into bed. A wave of cold sweat
passed over him as he looked at the equally bewildered
boy.

“Try holding hands first.” Tori suggested; “Then kiss.”

Experimentally, he put out his hand, which Brian took.
My god, they had worked together! This was happening to
fast. Instinctively, he kissed Brian’s hand. Okay, no
problem there. Slowly they moved together, and kissed
one another full on the lips. Fireworks. Their mouths
meshed, and their tongues tangoed between their throats.
His hands roamed over Brian’s hips and buttocks. He
bucked down and kissed Brian’s nipples, and swung
himself back to massage Brian’s feet. They were perfect.

Brian was tan, with small feet and tiny toes. In no
time, Brett was simulating with his mouth on Brian’s big
toe what he wanted to do with his cock. Brian doubled
over, placing passionate kisses on Brett’s asshole,
dangling his tongue inside. Suddenly, things became too
hot, and the boys wrestled for dominance.

Brian, glorious, stuck his cock in front of Brett’s
mouth.

“Suck, you slut.”

Brett examined the cock. It was slightly smaller than
his own, but not entirely unlike it. It was stiff,
uncircumcised, and glistening at the top with pre-cum.
At its base was a little tuft of darkish-blond pubic
hair, just starting to grow.

Brett conceded and sucked in Brian’s cock. It swelled up
a bit in his mouth, and though he wasn’t expert, he
could keep a decent rhythm with his thrusts.

Suddenly, Brian pulled out, and, dabbing his prick with
a bit of Vaseline at the edge of the bed, plunged into
Brett’s exposed ass.

“Oh yeah,” Brett said as the joy filled him. “Fuck me.
Sodomize me.”

Brian was only too happy to comply, riding him like a
stallion. He bent down, his thrusts becoming stronger
and deeper. He bit into Brett’s neck as he fucked his
virgin asshole. He grabbed on to Brett’s dick, jacking
him off.

Brian looked over to see Tori, her legs spread apart,
her hands diddling deep in her fiery bush.

Suddenly, Brian bucked and exploded deep inside Brett,
and fell forward on to his friend, exhausted. Tori
climbed on to the bed, pulling Brian’s cock out of
Brett’s pink ass.

“Ah, is my little purple-headed soldier tired?” Tori
asked. Her tongue dipped out, and she licked the shit
off his prick, and tarried around his balls. With steady
sureness, his dick began to rise.

“There we go,” Tori said. “Now, my boys, why not feed
for a while from mother Tori?”

She offered them her breasts, which they gladly took,
one each. She sighed as they sucked and nibbled, and
guided each cock into her glimmering cunt. It was a snug
fit, but it was a good fuck.