Marilyn Monroe, despite all the glamor and glitter, wasn't living a happy life. Yes, there was fame, but she considered it more infamy than the other way around. A rising sex icon, they called her. She wanted to be more than that, yet those around her believed she should stay where she belonged, half-nude in front of cameras and completely nude in their beds.
Every director, producer, and studio president she'd met offered her the world, and a cock to go with it. She had learned pretty early that Hollywood was an industry where you had to loosen your morals.
She did just that. She played the script. She became a mistress to a connected man in a top talent agency. She got some small roles, then better, and eventually a rotten contract with 20th Century-Fox. The contract bound her for seven years, but Fox kept the right to not renew the contract after each year.
That pushed her. Pressured her to curry more favors. To maintain buzz so the studio wouldn't discard her. She worked in comedies, but always remained a sexy ornament, nothing more.
Yes, she saw the rising fame. She saw things moving in the right direction. But was she happy? Not at all. The insomnia had gotten worse. Dependence on medicines kept increasing. It scared her to think where this journey would end.
But now, she felt content if it ended after this project. Going to the Oscars that night was the greatest blessing of her life. To meet that God in the flesh was even greater. She hadn't discussed it with her manager or Fox. She had accepted the First Man's proposal.
Of course, Fox refused to let her go. Even before a god's wishes, the greed of those men blinded their eyes. They tried to scare her. She knew what they wanted; to replace her with a different actress of greater fame and name than her.
Then one day, news came that MGM sold itself to the nation of Dinosia. Not to the First Man, not to a company, but to the holy nation of Dinosia. After that, Fox's top management mysteriously disappeared for a week. When they returned, they not only let her go but also gave her a severance package.
She signed a new contract with MGM right away. This one was far more lenient, rewarding, and satisfying. Other than two studio movies a year, she was allowed to pick one script of her choice. As long as it was worth it, she'd be allowed to work in it.
All that happened a week ago.
The studio made her busy with pre-production of the new movie, titled Project God, at the moment. She was taken to countless costume trial sessions. She was given speech training, accent training, and was trained physically in low-level acrobatics. It was the most fulfilling time of her life as she felt how nobody bothered with her body, her looks. Nobody asked her to show her breasts or legs on camera.
Yet, she was upset because she never got to see the First Man again. The staff said that the First Man was scouting locations around the world. The entire filming crew will be traveling through teleportation everywhere. It would save on cost.
Under Dinosia's management, MGM was assigned a 'nerd' who reluctantly had to work as the studio's president for three years. She never understood how such a system worked. How could someone reluctantly end up doing a good job?
She never asked questions. Though she did get to have a private recorded viewing of MGM's new logo. Instead of the lion, now there was a T-Rex, and the dinosaur roared so majestically.
Finally, after two weeks, the day of the film's shooting arrived. She had read the script; it was something new for sure. The movie was going to be shot in two parts, each containing chapters. It was based around an alien invasion.
She had a significant role in the story. It was also mostly action-based. And the new thing was that the movie was being shot in color, not the usual black and white. Strange new cameras were brought, developed by Dinosia. And as the movie was being shot, MGM took over the global movie screening business, introducing color projectors and larger screens.
Finally, on the day of the shoot, she was told to wait outside the studio's building. Moments later, a Chevrolet Deluxe convertible stopped in front of her, the driver's seat occupied by the one true god. She nearly yelped in excitement.
"Get in."
Oh, the speed with which she jumped inside the car. But she also felt shy and made her clothes proper. However, her control faded as soon as the car, instead of moving forward, flew up in the sky.
"Ah!"
First came a little scream. That turned into awe as soon as she looked down at the city. Before long, she eased into her current situation and just stared at the First Man's face.
Nestled on the leather seat, her blonde curls flowed softly around her nape. A wide-brimmed hat rested on her head, and her lips curved into a subtle smile. The white sundress hugged her curves, with thin straps on her shoulders and a deep neckline. Its golden floral pattern shimmered like silk. The fabric fell to her knees, draping over her toned legs, which were crossed demurely as she leaned back.
"I can't believe this is happening."
"Hah! Be prepared to have your mind blown, Marilyn. We're gonna have a T-fuckin-rex in the movie. He's very cute and intelligent, so don't be scared."
"Marty? Your supreme steed?"
"He's like a son to me, not a steed."
"I… apologise."
"Chill, I ain't the old me. I won't eat you, although I'd love to, but you get the meaning. Anyway, tell me more about yourself. I gotta know you properly before we start filming. My damn assistant insisted."
Marilyn nodded, pursed her lips, and looked outside. They were above the clouds, and the beauty of it was otherworldly. This was so magical that words couldn't describe it and… yet… she felt greedy for more.
"If getting to know me is… the goal, then…" masking her face with bravery, hiding the nervousness, she let her left hand gently land on the First Man's lap. "I would… like to know you more… intimately."
Marshall jerked his head and looked at her. Marilyn was a gorgeous woman, no doubt about it. "No need to tongue-polish my ego like a desperate hooker. You got the fucking job already. Relax."
"No! No, no… Please don't think that. I know all about the Dinosian rite, the one where you claim a girl and she's yours for life. I may not be Dinosian, but the faith of the First Man lives in me too. Mmm… could I feel what that's like? Just once?"
Marshall stared at her with a raised brow. He eyed her succulent lips, that little mole, her drunk eyes. There wasn't arousal or filth, but worship somehow. A different kind of worship.
"Ritual picks are always fresh-out-the-wrapper virgins. You one?"
Marilyn's face turned red. She looked down. "N-No… I—"
"Bah! Joking. Who gives a fuck? Here, go ahead, have fun." Marshall howled in laughter and, with a single snap, made all his clothes disappear. He sat naked behind the flying car's steering wheel. "Lick it, sniff it. Taste the whole damn buffet."
Oh, Marilyn did just that. Like an obsessed devotee, she threw away her hat in the back seat, removed the seatbelt, and sat on her knees sideways on her seat, facing him. The next moment, she leaned face-first and smothered herself.
Marilyn didn't use her hands at all. No, she literally planted her entire gorgeous face on his fat, godly cock.
She pressed in like a worshiper collapsing at the altar, her soft cheeks flattening against the thick shaft, nose buried right at the root where the scent hit her hardest. Her eyelashes fluttered against his skin as she inhaled so deeply her lungs ached, greedy to drink him down.
This was no mere man's scent to her; this was the First Man, the one her family had whispered prayers to in the dark.
This was everything to Marilyn. No, this was more. This was the greatest moment of her life, possibly ever. More than acting, her career. This was like the greatest pilgrimage possible.
"Mmmmmmmmh…"
Oh, she wanted to mark her mind with this masculine, godly scent. She wanted to etch this holy texture into her mind forever. She wanted this sensation to never leave her lips.
Still kneeling sideways on the leather seat, wind whipping her blonde curls wild above the open roof, she kept her hands braced on the cushion for balance and simply moved her face. Her lush lips parted and dragged along the underside of his length in worshiping glides, painting him with the glossy sheen of her mouth.
She nuzzled the heavy base, kissed the fat vein, then slid upward inch by inch, leaving wet pecks that made tiny smacking sounds.
She kissed the base again and then up to the tip, feeling the silky texture of his skin glide against her mouth. She moved one long, lapping lick from base to the tip, collecting every ridge, every throb. When she felt that first rich tinge of precum bloom across her taste buds, she shattered.
"Ooooooh! So… perfect and more!"
Her whole body shivered, rolling from her scalp down to her curled toes. Under the white sundress, her pussy clenched on nothing, suddenly slick and hot, seeping into the cotton of her panties.
But then, the First Man reached across with one lazy, powerful arm. His fingers caught the hem of her dress and dragged it up over the generous curve of her hips, bunching the floral fabric around her waist.
She was wearing underwear, sadly. Yet somehow, with nothing more than a flicker of his will, the delicate scrap of lace was gone in a whisper, leaving her nude and glistening. Then she felt it.
"Aaaaaaah! I'm going to—!"
She tried to keep herself upright, noble, a worthy vessel for her god. But now she came undone. The First Man's long fingers slid between the pale asscheeks, brushing the tight ring there before curving down to part her soaked folds, and sank knuckle-deep into her dripping pussy with casual, possessive ease.
She came hard right away. Her pussy spasmed and fluttered around that single thick digit like it was trying to pull him deeper.
Her thighs locked, back arched, mouth falling open in a broken cry as pleasure detonated through her core. Clear nectar gushed over his invading finger, dripping down his wrist, pattering onto the leather seat in obscene little splashes.
Yet she still seized her chance. One trembling hand finally flew to his cock, and she rammed it straight down her throat in one frenzied motion. The fat head punched past her tonsils; she gagged instantly, tears spilling over her lashes. Saliva flooded her mouth, drooling in thick strings down his shaft and onto his heavy balls, but she didn't pull back.
She forced herself deeper, choking herself stupid, throat working in desperate swallows that milked him. Her other hand clawed at the seat for leverage as she fucked her own face on him.
She cursed her mortal body for its limits, for not being able to take every impossible inch of the glorious phallus.
"Hufff… F-First Man…" she pulled her face up and pleaded. "Push me… down… please!"
"..."
Marshall stared down at her, one brow cocked. Marilyn wasn't a thick, curvy, tall woman. She looked rather fragile to him. But when he looked down at her shining blonde hair.
He sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, then planted one massive hand on the back of her golden head.
Fucking… tight!
The thought hit him like a slap as he pressed. Inch by brutal inch, he pushed her down, feeling her lush lips stretch wide around his girth, cheeks hollowing, throat bulging as the fat cock invaded deeper. She didn't fight it. Didn't tap out.
He felt her throat ripple around his iron-hard cock, squeezing like a fist. Her lips clamped tight at the base when she finally bottomed out. He felt every frantic flutter of her gag reflex trying to milk him, every desperate swallow working to please her god.
Marshall kept her there, buried to the hilt, letting her lungs burn while her body shook. "One… devoted follower you are."
Slurp! Slurp!
Marilyn replied with action. As soon as Marshall moved his hand, she started bobbing her entire head.
Both her hands flew to his shaft. One twisting at the thick base, the other spiraling up the middle in slick, corkscrew strokes that matched the rhythm of her mouth. Her tongue slithered in circles around the flared rim every time she pulled back, lapping at the sensitive underside, slurping up the mess of spit and precum.
Marshall felt it all. The hot, wet suction, the way her throat opened up for him again and again, the sinful spiral of her palms milking him from root to tip. Fuck, he was already teetering. The First Man, who'd railed goddesses until they screamed for mercy, was being edged by a trembling mortal in a sundress. The absurdity of it only made his balls draw tighter.
Plop!
Right as the pressure coiled unbearable, he yanked her off by the hair, strands tangled in his fist. Her mouth came free, lips swollen and glistening, drool dripping. She looked wrecked.
He didn't like the mess on her face. With a casual flick of thought, he wiped it clean. Her skin was pristine again, lipstick somehow restored, eyes bright and eager.
"Don't got too long. Decide. The whole thing, or you fine with just sucking."
"I can?!" Marilyn chirped, disbelief and joy crashing together, "I thought because I'm no virgin—"
Marshall grinned and leaned back against the seat, cock jutting proudly and slick. "Hop on."
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