Page 58 of Naughty Nelle

CHAPTER 8

Blake

“Hi. I studied the ratings and I think I’m onto something.”

Her voice startled me. I was sitting on my leather couch, about to hit the play button on my remote to watch the dailies of our series, Private Dick. It was one of our most popular late-night shows, but virtually no one watched it when we re-aired it during the day. I glanced at my watch. Nine forty-five. I wasn’t expecting her so soon. She was fifteen minutes early for our meeting. At the sound of her voice, I gazed up. She was standing at the doorway to my office, the files I’d given her tucked in her hands. She was clad in an almost knee-length plaid pleated skirt and a white silk blouse with little pearl buttons. Most would describe what she was wearing as prim and proper, but I found it oddly sexy. It left a lot to the imagination. Beneath her garments, I could visualize her soft curves and the swell of her breasts. Did she wear lace or was she one of those Hanes types of girls who wore cotton briefs and a simple no-wire bra? While I was a total lace-man, the image of her in that boyish cotton underwear turned me on. I yearned to rip open her blouse, hear those pearly buttons bounce to the floor, and pull down her skirt. My cock flexed beneath my pants.

“Did I catch you at a bad time?” she asked, her voice a little timid, perhaps because I’d not acknowledged her.

I shifted on the couch and let out a nervous little cough. Behave, Mr. Burns. That’s what I often called my cock. Call it respect for my mega-fucking machine.

“No. Come in and take a seat.” My eyes stayed riveted on her as she strode into my office and headed toward an armchair across from me.

“No, please sit next to me,” I said before she could plunk her sweet ass on the chair. “I’d like you to watch something with me.”

“Okay,” she said hesitantly, rounding the coffee table. She lowered herself onto the cushion next to me.

“A little closer, please.”

She scooted next to me, and for a brief second, her thigh brushed against mine. She quickly pulled it away. The delicious cherry vanilla scent of her hair filled my nostrils and made me slightly lightheaded. Still holding the remote, I hit “play.”

On the large plasma TV on the wall facing us, the latest episode of Private Dick began to play. Oral Covert, the undercover agent with the twelve-inch dick, had confronted his chief suspect, a hooker named Daisy who was hiding something. She was also his on and off love interest.

“Get over here, you slut,” he growled, lowering his pants. The actor who played the part was capable of few words, but this line came easily to him. His favorite weapon—his big gun—sprung from his pants. The camera panned his extraordinary length. Nice.

The busted hooker, dressed in a bustier, fishnets, and mile-high leather boots that led to her pussy, flung her mane of flaming red hair and licked her pillowy lips. The camera zoomed in on the latter. I could feel my cock tense as it did. Nice work again.

Oral grabbed her by the hair and shoved her to her knees. Mental note: Add a gasp in ADR. “Just give it to me, cunt, if you know what’s good for you,” barked Oral. In a heartbeat, Daisy’s lush lips were wrapped around Oral’s foot-long cock, taking it to the hilt. He began to fuck her mouth vigorously. In and out. Faster and faster. As moans and groans filled the room, I felt Jennifer squirm next to me.

“Does this turn you on?” I turned to ask her.

The scrunched up expression on her face was one of pure revulsion. “It’s vomiticious.”

My brows lifted to my forehead. “Vomiticious? What does that mean?”

She gazed at me. “It means it makes me want to vomit.” To illustrate, she opened her sweet glossy mouth, stuck out her tongue, and shoved a finger inside it. God, she was cute when she did that gagging gesture. It made me want to insert my finger into her mouth and have her lips clamp down on it and suck on it. I was consciously aware of my cock straining against my fly.

“Come on,” I challenged. “I don’t believe you. What girl wouldn’t be turned on by twelve inches of pulsing, hot flesh in her mouth?”

“You are so clueless.”

What the fuck? Seriously. One day on the job, and this little know-it-all was calling me clueless? Moi, who had started SIN-TV and made it the phenomenal success it was? I had to be doing something right. Impulsively, I hit the “off” button on the remote. The picture on the screen faded to black. They’d still been at it.

“Can you please explain what you mean?” My voice had taken on a sharp tone. Yet, she did not seem the least bit intimidated by me.

She folded her arms tightly across her breasts, her hands tucked beneath them, and one long leg over the other. “It’s simple. Men think with their cocks; women think with their hearts.”

“Oh, is that something they taught you in Psychology 101?”

Making a face, she seemed a little affronted by my patronizing attitude but continued her lecture.

“Men are all about conquest; women are all about romance.”

I was all ears.

“And that brings me to why your slate of programming is not performing in the daytime. I analyzed your ratings package very carefully. The problem is simple: the daytime audience consists mostly of women. There are millions of women—moms and caretakers at home—looking for an escape. But they’re not going to watch hard core porn; they’re looking for something different—”

I cut her off. “Like what?”

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