Dirty Little Steam Queen

A hand snuck up her thigh!

Long, icy fingers of fear coiled around her neck! She couldn't breathe! And then a dark night, a burst of red, a dripping knife sent her back to the little tarpaper shack she'd grown up in. She was re-living thousands of summer nights, blaring railroad whistles, feeling the flaming hot wind of Satan's Breath burning her skin while blowing through the valley. And then she saw his face hanging above her in the shadows. His leering, sweaty face, his grunts and groans and the feel of his ugly cock thrusting himself in and out—

All at once, she went wild, pushing and shoving. "Get your slimy hands off me!" Blaze shouted while scratching to get up from the couch. When she finally got free of the man's clutches, she stood glaring at him. "I hate you and your kind. Do you understand? I hate the way you look at me, and I cringe when you touch me! I'd rather be fucked by any bastard on the street than by you!"

“Blaze, I—" He started toward her.

"No! No!" she screamed, backing away from him in fright. "If you ever touch me again, I...I—" Realizing her childhood stammer had come back, she didn't stop, but continued her stutter. "—b...but yo...you'll n...never get the chance, you b...bastard, because I quit! Do you hear that? I quit, so ram that up your ass and smoke it!"

Several people turned quickly when they heard the shouts coming out of Barry Schorr's office. "God, what a mouth that woman has on her," one woman whispered to another as Blaze slammed out, hurrying to the front of the building.

She had to get out! The air was stifling, the smell putrid, like it always was on those hot summer nights!

Barry came to the door, his dark, curly hair falling down in his face. He looked at the curious faces and yelled, "What the hell are you lookin' at, you friggin' rejects from a kennel club!" His gaze cut angrily toward Blaze's disappearing figure before he stepped back into his office and slammed the door so hard, the frosted plate glass window shattered. An angry, "Damn!" came from inside, and the reprimanded employees couldn't resist a few giggles.

Blaze jumped into her little red MG and zoomed recklessly onto the freeway. She needed the wind in her face, so she traveled mile upon mile, weaving in an out of heavy traffic until she quit shaking. After a while, she pulled up into her own drive and went inside to call her agent.

"Entertainment by Sanders," the young voice said cheerfully.

"Yeah, let me talk to Scott, Melanie. This is Blaze Alexander." Blaze paced restlessly as she waited for Scott to answer.

"Hello, sweetie, what's up?"

"Hi, Scott, I just quit my job."

The handsome, gray-haired man lunged forward in his chair. "What? Why?"

"Barry Schorr, that's why. I've played my last scene with him on that friggin' couch. I walked out, and I don't intend to go back."

"But, Blaze, he's been doing that since the beginning."

"No, Scott, he hasn't been doing it, he's been trying to do it. There's a big difference. Today, he had me pinned to the couch with his fuckin' hand up my skirt."

"But you always seemed to be able to handle him before. Why now—?"

"I'm tired of it, Scott. I don't need this harassment. For two cents, I'd sue the whole damned station."

"Well, get that idea out of your head. You know what they'd tell you."

"Yeah, I know." She ruefully pulled a cigarette out of a pack and lit it with a trembling hand. "With the kind of show I do, it's the price I pay, I guess." Blowing smoke, she put her hand up to her head, feeling a headache coming on. "Get me something, Scott. Something far away from here. Anything."

"Well, you can write your own ticket, babe, where do you want to go? New Orleans? Philadelphia? Personally, I think you should give Vegas a chance. Bright lights, all that money. They're your kind of people, Blaze. How about it? Should I call them?"

"Vegas is out. How about Savannah?" Blaze dropped down on the couch.

Scott almost strangled on his coffee. "Savannah? Why in God's name would you want to go to Savannah?"

"For one thing, it's clear across the country and light years away from this jerk. God, I'm so tired of big city egos. Besides," she began, still rubbing her temples, "in all my years in Georgia, I've never been to Savannah."

"So what? That's no reason to go back."

"I read somewhere that it's the most beautiful city in America." After taking a deep draw on her cigarette, she blew the smoke out noisily and frowned curiously. "Did you know that?"

"No, and I don't care how beautiful it is, Blaze. It's not for you."

"Well, I've made up my mind, Scott. Get me Savannah. I'm counting on you."

ADULT EXCERPT

“Hello, Savannah. If that little ol' needle on your radio is pointing up to 103.5, then don't move it, sweetheart. You've just tuned in to Station WSCX in good old Savannah, GA. This is Blaze Alexander, your Midnight Mistress and I'm going to be here from midnight to dawn, just for you.”

"God, what a voice," Greg mumbled as he stared with amazement through the glass at the beautiful redhead operating the console.

“Come on, you sweet sinners, I'm here for the night, so how about you and me get to know each other real well."

Blaze reached around and put on some music while her dark, soothing voice continued mesmerizing the night owls of Savannah.

"Mix a drink, cuddle a little, and get comfortable, because I'm your playmate for tonight."

A sexy chuckle slid out her mouth.

"What's that I hear out there? Heavy breathing? Ohhhh, not now, handsome, wait for lil’ ol’ Blaze!"

Greg's eyes widened at the veiled suggestions she was making. Turning, he went back into his office and turned on his radio, listening closely as Blaze's suggestive remarks set fire to the airwaves.

“The other night, a cop stopped me. I asked him, ‘What's the matter, darlin’, did you get lonely?’ He didn't say anything, just started actin' real tough, you know? He grabbed me and leaned me over the car.” She emitted a deep, raspy chuckle. “He didn't fool me. I knew what he was up to. After he put the cuffs on me, he said, real official like, ‘You'll have to come quietly.’ When I saw how well he filled out that uniform, I had to tell him, I'm real sorry, darlin', but I never...come quietly.’”

Greg almost swallowed his tongue. He jumped up, slammed out of his office, and ran toward her window. When he got there, he began swinging his arms to get her attention.

Blaze looked up at Greg's horrified face.

“Hey, sugar, listen to the music a while and I'll be right back, okay? Someone's tryin' to get my attention." Looking at Greg in anger, she clenched her teeth while trying to maintain the air of seduction, and leaned even closer to the microphone. “Mmmm, I love it when they follow me everywhere I go."

She quickly jumped up and opened the door. "What in hell do you want? Can't you see I'm in the middle of my show?"

"Show? This isn't a show, it's pornography, pure and simple."

"What have I said that couldn't be said over the air in the bright light of day? Have I used any foul language?"

"No, not in so many words. But there have been suggestions, innuendoes. And what about that dirty..."

"As long as I don't say 'fuck' on the air, Bucko, you’re safe. Now let me get back to my audience before I lose them." She turned and slammed back into the booth. As she slid down into her seat, she cast a nasty look in Greg's direction.

“Hey, lover, your Midnight Mistress is back, and to make up for makin' you wait for me, I promise I'm gonna make you real happy.”

While she and Greg made loathsome eye contact with each other, she slowly and sensuously continued to soothe the unsuspecting city of Savannah into a sex-induced coma.

Greg fumed. She apparently wasn't going to cool it down, so he turned around and slammed back into his office. He paced back and forth, combing through his hair with his hands. "That damned bitch is going to get me fired, I just know it."

When Wade had told him he would be surprised, he expected something wild, but sex on the air hadn't occurred to him. And that music. To anyone else, it was instrumental blues or jazz, but somehow in her expert hands, it became music to fuck by! Smooth horns became slow hands, thrusts, moans, and groans. And if the population didn't have an imagination of its own, she supplied it for them by describing the act in suggestive words without going over the line. He'd never heard anything like it. She might be big in California, New York, or Chicago, but she was just too damned hot for a straight-laced city like Savannah. He jerked his head around and looked at his radio, as her voice became a soft, seductive moan.

“Yessss! Ohhh, that's good. Ohh, yes!”

God! Greg thought, bringing his hands up and lacing his fingers through his hair. The whole city of Savannah is having an orgy with this woman! His nerves were on edge. He looked toward the door repeatedly, expecting to see Bran Farewell barging in at any moment. He tried to tame his arousal while trying to figure out what to do, but he couldn't concentrate with her, deep, sliding voice, her off-color jokes, and her metaphorical words intruding on his thoughts.

Finally, he gave up and sat down, leaning close to the radio. It didn't take long for him to succumb to the carnal spell, and like the rest of the city, he allowed the voice, the words, and the sliding music of the Midnight Mistress to bathe him in an erotic fantasy.

* * * *

As soon as the show was over, Blaze gave the microphone up to the next deejay, and came out of the booth. She met Greg on her way out, and as she approached him, she hesitated for a moment. She knew she had won the war when she saw his disheveled appearance. He was bathed in sweat, his shirt unbuttoned and halfway out of his jeans, and his hair was sticking out in all directions. When she saw his tie hanging limp around his neck, she tightened her lips, trying to keep from laughing. As she passed him, she couldn't resist flipping the loosely hanging tie and saying sarcastically, "Always nice to meet a fan."