Part 13 (2/2)
”What's going on?” Warner asked the chauffer who'd released his hands from the steering wheel. People had come from all over Cannes to stand at Hotel du France's entrance. He slid a piece of sugarless gum into his mouth and chewed, hoping it would wake him. I smell trouble.
Before the season started, he'd instructed management to book production crew for the film festival, no party animals. Truman Enterprises' strategy for making money during the summer in Cannes came from remaining off the celebrity radar. Hotel du France catered to behind-the-scenes industry folks. If they were to host any starlets, they would be the low-drama Julia Roberts or George Clooney types. Not the young partying Lindsey or Mischa, troublemakers who'd alert paparazzi to their every move prior to making one. He rolled the car's window down as the driver inched closer.
”Gimme your meat, baby!” a woman's voice screamed from the balcony above his car. ”Oui, oui, oui, Manuel, f.u.c.k me harder.”
Manuel?
”You magnifique s.l.u.t, Caramel!” a man shouted huskily.
Caramel?
Warner stuck his head out the window, glaring up at where the voices came from, at what everyone else in the street gawked over.
Against the sun's bright rays, two famous p.o.r.n stars, whom he'd seen in several movies, f.u.c.ked on his presidential suite balcony. Their names? Manuel Coq de la Grande and Caramel Swallows.
Caramel Swallows, who'd been nicknamed the p.o.r.n Queen, had a number-one-selling online video. It translated in English as Cream Caramel over the Causeway, and had grossed over thirty-five million dollars in digital downloads. With her own reality show t.i.tled Her p.o.r.n Life, cameras tracked Caramel for months, catching her every move. And at the Cannes Film Festival, it appeared to be Manuel.
”You want me, Caramel?” Manuel stabbed his stiff rod in her a.s.s. He held on to her hips as the woman's face twisted with erotic pleasure.
Her b.r.e.a.s.t.s jiggled so fast Warner couldn't tell one nipple from the other. Caramel's long black hair flew wild in the humid Mediterranean air, and her body shook as Manuel's thrusts increased.
”f.u.c.k CARAMEL. f.u.c.k CARAMEL.” The crowd howled, egging them on.
His s.c.r.o.t.u.m rammed her like a sandbag. Sweat came off him, his face focused and possessed, pounding her so hard she'd become quiet.
Panicked, Warner jumped out of the car. ”Move! Get out of my way.” He pushed through the crowd when they didn't pay any attention to him. Everyone was too busy staring.
”f.u.c.k MANUEL. f.u.c.k MANUEL,” tourists chanted. Cameras flashed and video recorders streamed. TV film crews had come out of nowhere to capture the footage.
”What the h.e.l.l is going on?” Warner snagged Hotel du France'svalet manager's attention before he could drive off to park a hotel guest's regal blue Bugatti.
Slouched down in the car's white leather interior, with no place to escape, the attendant's lips twitched, trying to speak. He hesitated, not knowing how to respond.
”Answer me,” Warner demanded.
”Prix du Cinema Pour Adultes...”
”No?”
”Oui.”
Prix du Cinema Pour Adultes was the largest adult film convention in the world. Held annually alongside the Cannes Film Festival, it wasn't anything like the other award programs taking place that season. Instead, p.o.r.nography actors had received Oscar-style awards at lavish dinners. The extravaganza was always oversold and booked months in advance at a competing hotel, not a Truman Enterprises property.
”Mr. Kip Van Scott booked rooms this week for the adult film awards?” Over the winter he'd promoted Kip to this property from Secrete de St. Barth.
”Correct.”
This explained Kip's success. His ability to sell rooms was record breaking. But he never expected this from Kip. The unofficial spin-off of the Cannes Film Festival where adult actors celebrated their work ran as a two-week-long extravaganza, which apparently had hosted itself at Hotel du France.
He stepped back to see the crowd cheering the male actor on as he slid in and out of Caramel's a.s.s.
”I'M COMING!” Caramel's body rocked against Manuel's, ready to shoot off.
”Manuel! Manuel! Manuel!” the crowd repeated as he drove in harder. They loved him.
Pulling out from Caramel, Manuel stepped close to the balcony's edge. He ripped the condom off, throwing it out into the audience.
Oh no, Manuel...
He jacked his donkey d.i.c.k. Manuel's hairy bag hung low. His skin glistened in the sun. The p.o.r.n star shouted down to the onlookers below and asked, ”You want it?”
”Oui, oui, oui,” the mob cried.
Manuel wouldn't dare...
Spreading his legs wide, he stood on the guardrail.
With cameras flas.h.i.+ng, the crowd pressed under the balcony. Even if they wanted to escape, they couldn't.
He spit. He tugged. He twisted his d.i.c.k.
Chanting, the crowd raised their arms. Manuel became a demiG.o.d.
Manuel's erection reached his bellyb.u.t.ton.
A gasp came from the crowd as the front group realized they were going to get it. How could they not have realized this before?
He yanked once-twice-three times.
”He's going to come on us,” warned one woman who ate an ice cream cone with one hand and held a Galeries Lafayette shopping bag with the other. Panicked, people squished in one direction then another.
”Yeeeah, bebe!” His gravy shot, misting the onlookers below.
”Merde! You s.h.i.+t,” one person shouted back. The cheers shrilled into screams. Horror. Did they think it was just for theatrics? Manuel had e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed for his fans. He didn't know any better. They'd gotten what they'd asked for.
People threw their wine and beer bottles at the balcony. They screamed in anger at the p.o.r.n stars. Ducking for cover, Manuel and Caramel fled inside the hotel room. They closed the balcony's doors as bottles smashed the gla.s.s.
Warner took the fire escape two stairs at a time. He hurried up the hotel's east wing and made it to the top step, catching the Cannes Police in the process of breaking the door in.
”Officer, my name is Kiki. Please don't arrest me. I wasn't doing anything wrong,” a pet.i.te, busty blonde girl, not a day over eighteen, pleaded.
”Pardon, your name is-what?” The officer grabbed both of her hands behind her back.
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