Double Take Ch. 03
Keywords: 03, Ch., Take, Double,
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"(c) 2003 by Thrillerauthor
For those who missed Parts I and II, the players are:
Sandy Lane, pro surfer with an uncanny resemblance to...
Ashley Vaughn, gorgeous Hollywood starlet in a TV series produced by...
Darla Palmer, who convinces Sandy to bob his nose after he is punched out by rival surfer...
Buster Cruz, whose mysterious death in Honolulu is being investigated by...
Detective Halani and Lieutenant Goering. "
Sandy and Ashley switched off the television and stared at one another in disbelief. Normally, they didn't stay up to watch the network telecast of Wet Girls, which came on at 10:00 on the west coast. After all, they had to get up at 5:00 the next morning. But they knew the entire country would be talking about this episode, and they had watched it with dreadful anticipation.
The phone rang before either one of them could speak. They were spending the night at Ashley's house in the Hollywood Hills, so she picked it up, grimacing as she listened. "I know, Mom. I know. Yeah, it's terrible. Uh, no, that was me playing both roles. Special effects. Tell Daddy hi for me. Love you."
Sandy watched as she collapsed onto the sofa. "Even my own mother thinks the show stinks now. 'How could they kill millions of people like that?' she asked me. And to make it worse, I had to lie about who played Coral and who played Pepper. What a disaster!"
Sandy, who was wearing a short pleated skirt and knee sox, pulled her down onto his lap. He brushed her hair away from her face as she snuggled up to him. "Let's go to bed," he said. "I'll make you forget all about the show."
Ashley slid her hand up Ashley's skirt and started to play with the hem of his slip. She loved it when he dressed up in something sassy. Ashley herself was wearing jeans and a sweat shirt, but Sandy was still afraid to go out in public in anything that might give him away as a guy.
He had reluctantly agreed to tag along when she asked him to go out with her after they got home from the set that afternoon. Los Angeles was a whirl of non-stop parties as the Holidays approached, and Ashley had some serious shopping to do. She was invited to dozens of events, including an A list party at the home of one of Hollywood's hottest producers, and a C list party being thrown by Ben and Robert Prik, the co-executive producers of Wet Girls, that same Friday night. For the hundredth time, she begged Sandy to take her place at the network party.
"No way," he said.
"Pleeeese!"
"Just tell them you can't make it. It's going to be like a wake anyway, after what we just saw on TV."
"Darla told me I'd better not miss it. You know Darla."
"So go."
"I have to go to the other party. Especially after tonight. Wet Girls is going down the tubes, and I better start hustling for parts."
"What's in it for me?"
"I'll be your slave for the rest of the year."
"The year's over in two weeks."
"Pleeeese!"
"What do I have to wear?"
"Yea! The green velvet skirt I just bought will be perfect on you. So you'll do it?"
"I guess," he sighed. Before he could change his mind, she pulled down his panties and began to tease him, caressing his cock with his silky slip. He wasn't getting hard like he usually did, which surprised her.
"What's wrong?" she whispered, nibbling on his ear.
"I'm so pussy whipped."
"Don't I make you happy?" She quickened her strokes. Faster and faster, Ashley slid Sandy's slip up and down his shaft, driving him wild in spite of himself. The delicious sensations overwhelmed his resistance, although he was still soft when he lost control. Sweet surrender.
* * *
On Friday afternoon, Ashley fussed over Sandy for hours, experimenting with different hairstyles and makeup to give him the proper look. The last thing she needed was for guys to start coming on to him. His hair was just long enough to fasten in the back with a scrunchie, and his face looked convincingly feminine with very little makeup.
Decked out in a long velvet skirt, white ruffled blouse, and dainty shoes, Sandy watched uncomfortably as Ashley dressed to the nines for her Beverly Hills party. Her teased hair, short red dress and fuck-me heels made him look and feel like a schoolmarm by comparison.
"Trying to get some ass tonight?" he asked as she applied a final coat of gloss to her bright red lips.
"Don't be such a prude," she said as she surveyed herself in the mirror.
"Then why did you dress me up like one?"
"Look, I've had a lot more experience fighting off guys than you have. You're the one I'm worried about tonight," she said as the doorbell rang.
Sandy had never worn a long skirt, and he felt ridiculous taking baby steps as he minced down the driveway to Ashley Vaughn's waiting limousine. "Good evening, Miss Vaughn," the driver said as he opened the door. Sandy clutched at his long skirt and pulled it up as he struggled to get into the back seat.
As they drove up Laurel Canyon towards Toluca Lake, Sandy thought sadly back to the last time he had agreed to pinch-hit for Ashley at a society event. At least then he had Toby Goodfin to run interference for him. Tonight, he would be sans escort, in a shark tank full of network executives and Hollywood hangers-on.
What have I come to, he said to himself as he took in the glimpse of stocking between his velvet skirt and his suede pumps. Two years ago, I was a professional athlete at the top of my game, getting laid by a different girl every night. Now I'm sitting in a stretch limo in a freaking skirt, on my way to a party where I've got to pretend to be a girl in front of a bunch of total losers. Where did I go wrong?
He thought back to all the nights with Ashley Vaughn. To the incredible sex with a girl who loved him with every ounce of her beautiful body, who knew about the rush he got from wearing women's clothing, and who shared the secret thrill he experienced every time he passed in public. Sandy lifted his skirt and crossed his legs, reveling in the sensation of nylon against his smooth skin. A song from The Producers, the insane musical featuring a crossdressser as Adolf Hilter, brought a smile to his pretty face. Where did I go right?
The sight of the long driveway leading to Lakeside Country Club snapped him out of his reverie. When they pulled up to the clubhouse, the driver gave Sandy a pager so he could buzz him when he was ready to leave. "I won't be long," Sandy said as he dropped the pager into his clutch purse and got unsteadily out of the limo.
He exchanged air kisses with a few familiar faces as he ran the gauntlet of network suits in the lobby. Most of the guests were already there, crowded around a buffet table and an open bar in one of the club's larger meeting rooms. Sandy was waiting his turn at the bar when Darla Palmer came up to him.
"Ashley, I'm so glad you came," Darla said as she pressed her cheek against Sandy's. "Did you come alone?" she asked nervously, looking around the room.
"Yes."
"Oh good. I love Sandy, but it's best for the two of you not to be seen together, for obvious reasons."
"What makes you think I'd want to bring him?" Sandy asked, unable to resist the opportunity to mess with her mind.
"Come on, Ashley, I've got eyes." They worked their way up to the bar, and Ashley ordered a glass of white wine. Darla was drinking straight vodka.
"I like him, but not in the way you think."
"What do you mean?"
"We're just good friends, almost like sisters."
"Sisters?"
"Exactly. I mean, how could I get turned on by a guy who wears lipstick and nylons?"
"Are you telling me he dresses like a girl when he's off the set?"
"Didn't you know? How do you think the poor boy gets through the weekends?"
Darla was shaking her head when Sandy excused himself and walked out of the room, down a narrow hall lined with photographs of long-gone entertainment legends playing golf at Lakeside. Abbot and Costello…Martin and Lewis…Laurel and Hardy…where were Vaughn and Lane? He found himself at the entrance to the deserted billiards room. What a perfect place to kill some time! He racked up and was taking aim at the cue ball when he heard a man's voice. "Mind if I join you?"
Sandy looked over his shoulder to see a paunchy network suit with a bad comb-over. It was Ben Prik. "Why not," Sandy said, as he dropped a ball into one of the side pockets after a clean break. Sandy was a good pool player, and he held nothing back, maneuvering deftly around the table despite the confinement of his long skirt and the nuisance of the gold pendant around his neck. He sank four in a row before he missed a tricky bank shot.
"You're good," Prik said as he pressed his fat belly against the table. Although he was far from an athlete, and he had obviously been drinking, Prik had excellent hand-eye coordination, and he sank three of his own before the turn went back to Sandy.
Sandy had to lean over the table to line up for the next shot, up on the toes of one of his feet. He stopped to hike up his skirt so he could balance himself by raising his other foot in the air. He was lining up his shot again when he felt Prik's hands around his waist. "You're so lovely," Prik said.
At first, Sandy didn't know what to do. Prik had enormous power at the network, and he obviously had a thing for Ashley. "Thanks," he stammered, still trying to line up his shot.
"You do something for me," Prik said, nuzzling the back of Sandy's neck. "I want to get to know you better."
"Mr. Prik, please…" Sandy started to say.
"Think of what I can do for your career," Prik said, sliding his hands down to Sandy's ass.
Sandy fought to get away. Prik used his enormous weight to pin Sandy against the table, pushing him down on the green felt surface as balls scattered this way and that. The next thing Sandy knew, he was being spun around onto his back, and Prik was on top of him. Sandy could hardly breathe as Prik started to pull his skirt up and fumble with the waistband of his control-top pantyhose.
Sandy tried to cry out for help, but Prik smothered his mouth with a fleshy hand.
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Keywords: 03, Ch., Take, Double,