Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32


Ricky’s mobile phone vibrated urgently in his trouser pocket and he pulled it out quickly. ‘It’s time, Ricky,’ came Stephanie’s voice. He hung up and, taking a deep breath, opened the doors to the street slowly, one, then the other. The line of girls snaking along the boulevard seemed startled to see him. After six hours of waiting, gossiping and pouting, they had almost forgotten why they were there. Their voices, their breathing, hesitated, clicked in their throats on sentences unfinished. Those closest to him looked at him and then around him, trying to see what wasn’t there. He paused and then said ‘The first 100 of you are to come inside, arrange yourselves around the courtyard. Madame V’s assistant will consider you and those of you she touches on the shoulder will leave. I will then come outside and call in the next 100. And so it will go on.’ He saw girls’ mouths twist in a myriad of expressions — as well as hope, he saw hesitation, fear and defiance. Well, he thought, this is what you all want so you can now have it.

He counted the first batch through the door and then shut it firmly behind them. Slowly, hesitantly, they wandered through the cool passageway and out into the sunshine of the open courtyard. Stephanie was already waiting for them. She held only a small leather crop in her hand. The girls seeing the look on her face quickly took their places, jostling a little, one dropping her bag, another tripping on the uneven cobblestones. Finally they were ready. Stephanie was quicker than them — before the last girl had found her place, she had already made up her mind and was flicking a number of them back towards the door they had just come through. By the time she’d finished, only 22 girls were left standing in the courtyard.

Ricky let the failures out enmasse and returned with 100 more. Stephanie carried out the same process again, and then again. Finally she went back over the remaining girls, the seemingly lucky ones, discounting, until of the 672 girls who had waited for up to 6 hours in the hope of being seen by Madame V, only 47 remained in the hot courtyard.

Stephanie walked over to a corner of the yard and spoke rapidly into her mobile. She then put the phone away in the pocket of her jacket and walked over to the door of the house. Ricky stood by the entrance to the passageway which led to the street outside. Silence reigned now where before there had been the tiny shuffles, snuffles and whispers of young women waiting for their possibly one shot at fame. Even the birds had stopped singing it seemed. The noise from the street seemed held back in place by the solid brick walls of the building and time was suspended, encapsulated in this microcosm of humanity.

With a tiny creak, the impossibly shiny black door of the house opened, and Madame V stepped forth.

She stood for a moment, looking at the girls arranged around the courtyard like mannequins in a storeroom. Her dark sunglasses, black rimmed and dark glassed, made it impossible to see her eyes. Only by the tiny turn of her head could one verify where she was possibly looking. She looked over at Stephanie and smiled at her, giving a tiny nod of appreciation. Stephanie thought, looking at her employer dressed in regulation tight black skirt, fitted jacket, stockings with a tiny pattern and high patent heels, she could be a model herself. If pint sized models were ever to grace the catwalk, V would be top of the sought after list. Still, V herself never accepted anyone under 5 ft 8inches. Modelling agencies never looked at anyone below that height and she had learned that the hard way. No matter how beautiful she was, her height and even her body shape went against her. She was too large breasted for a model and too short — at only 5 ft 3 inches and with a D cup breast she was the epitome of a failed would be model. A would be if she could be…..

She had been left with no option other than to thumb her nose at the establishment and make her name in another but similar way — discovering and mentoring those beauties who would go on to become world supermodels. Along that route, she had been careful to build up a non picture of inscrutability. It was no mistake that she cultivated the essence of an enigma. She didn’t make friends easily so there were never any ‘sources’ whom the newspapers and magazines could get to. In short, so little was known about her that even finding out about her childhood or school years was full of obfuscation. She trusted few people – Stephanie and Ricky were the exceptions. Her models always made it to the top and she worked very hard with them — they were the best in the world, highly regarded and highly sought after. No amount of pumping would make them reveal anything about her. That was part of the deal. She could make them but she could also break them. She illustrated this very nicely with the story of the only model who had ever tried to make extra money by talking to the papers. V had used her own contacts to contaminate the girl — ensuring that her supermodelling career was over almost casino şirketleri before it began. No-one wanted to hire a model who was deemed unreliable, used drugs to such an extent that only cosmetic surgery had helped save her beauty, and with poor work ethics to boot. Everyone knew the Evangalista famous line of not getting out of bed for less than £10,000, but it was accepted that if a model was really, really good, that meant her work practice was good too. They may not work often but they did work hard. It was amazing how much could be made of so little and that little was all made up. It was enough of a cautionary tale to make all models who followed after her very, very careful about who they spoke to.

Slowly, like a cat creeping towards a mouse held in a trap, V swayed over to the front of the lineup. She gave a seemingly cursory, almost off hand look at the girls, sweeping her eyes along the line. Then she started at the beginning, tapping the shoulder of a girl here or a girl there, the line whittling down, the unwanted running the emotional gamut from tears to defiance, breathlessness, nausea, theatrics which never sat well with V. She dismissed all except two young women. The first was very beautiful, smooth perfect skin, long dark swinging hair, the long lithe body of a superstar. She held herself in the well known models’ louche, one hand on her hip which was thrust out in front. Her bone structure from her face to feet gave the looker the instant sense of being in the midst of a chosen one. The other girl, on the other hand, was merely pretty. Next to the brunette amazon, she barely raised an eyebrow but Madame V had asked her to stop there. Ricky and Stephanie were both surprised. Perhaps V had decided to mentor two would- be models simultaneously. But in their experienced eyes, the first girl, taller, darker, with beautiful bone structure was the obvious choice. What was V thinking?

As Ricky let the last thread of girls out of the courtyard, he thought about the cold beer which awaited him in the kitchen. Thank God these turgid days came only once every three years. He watched as Stephanie led the two women into the house. He thought about the tough six months or so ahead for them both but the world was waiting to see them and it would be their oyster for a very long time. He was curious though — V had never selected more than one girl at a time before. What did she want with the blonde?

He shrugged to himself, locked the iron doors and walked across the courtyard, the image of an icy cold beer drawing him over the hot cobblestones and into the cool of the house.


Angelina sat on the edge of the pale blue loveseat in the gorgeous Rococo styled room with its high ceilings and gilt mirrors, elaborate ceiling plaster work and enormous fireplace. She wondered at the expense and then at the colour and that led her to think of the gorgeous Madame V. She wondered why she had worn the black suit on such a hot day. Angelina herself had worn white, a broiderie anglaise dress with a tiny bolero in white organza and gold sandals on her feet. She’d painted her toes fuschia at the last minute. She had wanted to be understated, not to appear too desperate, but she was very interested to note that the other girl who had disappeared into the house had also been understated in her appearance. While other girls had dressed to impress, they had both behaved like wallflowers — was that the secret? she wondered. All through the ‘slave trade’, as she called it to herself, she had been acutely aware that she felt more like an observer than a participant. It was a huge surprise to her when Madame had asked her to stand with her assistant who had seemed as surprised as she was.

She had wondered about Madame for a long time, fantasising about her, as had probably many men and women. She was as famous for her supermodels as she was for being invisible. Because no-one seemed to agree on what she looked like, how tall she was, even the colour of her hair, Angelina had depicted her in many different ways although most often with a crop in one hand and a dildo in the other. She knew why too — she adored the idea of masterful women and there was no doubt that Madame was one. Although she herself was dominant, she thrilled to meet a woman who seemed stronger than her. She smiled to herself as she wondered where this was all going to lead.

“Why are you smiling?” She heard the carefully modulated tones of V behind her. “How did you know I was smiling?” she asked, turning around, the smile still on her lips.

“I saw you in the mirror. I was watching you just outside the door and then you smiled. Why?”

“Madame, I…I’m not sure…it was nothing. I was just thinking how great it is to be here.” Sounded weak to her ears but hoped it would get her through.

“Ok, I accept that for now.” No, Madame didn’t believe her. The pressure was off for the moment.

The older woman walked over to the chaise lounge and patted the seat beside her. She waited for Angelina to sit beside her. casino firmaları Angelina could smell her perfume, roses and something very slightly spicy. She looked at the hands folded in the lap of the black skirt and out of the corner of her eye she saw the points of the black high heeled shoes. Her breath quickened for an instant and then she calmed herself.

“Angelina, I wonder if I might ask you if you would like to work for me. I know that’s being presumptuous — I don’t, for instance, know if you are working now or what you would like to do or in fact anything about you. But there was something about you and I’m rarely wrong. I would like you to work for me.” The statement was both a question and its answer.

“Madame, I would rather work with you, than for you. Does that make sense?” Angelina surprised herself but in for a penny, in for a pound, she thought. She wasn’t a girl to waste time — on anything. Might as well find out quickly exactly what she’d been pulled out of the line for.

V’s eyes widened slightly and skittered away to a dark corner outside the pretty room, before coming back to rest on Angelina’s face. Angelina watched the red lips pout tinily and then they began to turn up and in a moment V was laughing — not a loud laugh, but certainly an appreciative one. “Angelina, it does make sense and I like that very much. We can talk about the position and pay and all that later but let’s have tea first.” V rose from the chaise and walked over to the fireplace. She pressed a button built into the marble and when an answering chime came back she walked slowly, deliberately, back to Angelina’s side. Angelina couldn’t take her eyes off her — she felt she was like a mongoose and Madame was the cobra dancing towards her.

“I have a proposition to make before you take up your new job and I’d like to discuss it over a nice pot of tea.”


Late on Saturday evening of the same week, Angelina stood in front of the full length mirror in V’s luxurious dressing room. V had given her a creamy coloured unisex riding outfit which fit her slim body like a glove. She had put her long blonde hair up and fastened a cap over it to hold it in place. She liked the highly waxed knee-length boots that V had bought especially for her to complement the outfit. She gently thwacked the riding crop against her leg, loving the look of boss lady. As she posed to herself, V slid into the room and stood beside her looking at her own image in the mirror. Angelina stepped back to look at her companion more easily. V was encased in the ensemble of a Victorian female horse rider – the long skirt, close fitted jacket, button boots, gloves and silk top hat with a tiny stiff veil that sat away from her face. The outfit was entirely black except for the creamy ruffled blouse. The pearl buttons from neck to décolletage were undone and a tiny snip of red could be seen in the deep V of her breasts. ‘Are you wearing a red bra?’ Angelina asked.

“Yes, does it show?” V asked.

“A tiny bit — in the V of your blouse. Perhaps one button should be done up?”

“Can you do it for me? I think the gloves will make my fingers clumsy.” Angelina did as bidden, standing close to V and paying more attention to her creamy skin than the button whose buttonhole was so tight she struggled to feed the button through. She took in a breath. She hadn’t thought about V’s breasts at all, although she was a fan of breasts herself. Here they were, soft and….large. A D? she wondered. She’s very small built but she could be a D cup. Her own nipples hardened at the thought and she became aware of the heat of her pussy and a tiny seepage of moisture somewhere deep inside. She let her skin touch V’s just below her neck, as if removing stray hairs from her skin. A slight shock of electricity tingled in her fingers. They both jumped and Angelina stepped away. V looked herself over from top to bottom in the mirror. “Hmmm, well, how does the rest of me look now?” she asked.

Edible, thought Angelina, as she said “Superb.” She couldn’t take her eyes of V’s beauty — her pale skin, the black hair piled on her head, tresses escaping from the top hat which gave a small gaiety to the otherwise austere Victorian look. She loved the way the under-corset beneath V’s blouse and jacket pulled the woman’s figure into a perfect hourglass. She wondered what V thought of how she looked but didn’t want to ask. What if she disappointed her? It was obvious the riding outfit hadn’t been bought for her specifically — another woman must have worn it before. Perhaps V picked her women according to a certain height and shape. Angelina sighed inwards — she really mustn’t start thinking about V having been with other women. Of course she had — she was older than Angelina, she’d been around.

A phone chirped on the table in the dressing room. V answered it briefly. “The car’s ready. Shall we?” The twinkle in her eye, the naughty smile on her ruby red lips made Angelina want to kiss her. She wasn’t employed to be her lover she knew but oh, how she güvenilir casino wished things had been different. She would never have met V other than by being in that line up and that had just been sheer forceful coercion by her friends who were always going on at her about how she could be a model. She wouldn’t be able to tell any of them about her new job — companion to the illustrious Madame V — but she knew she should be grateful for where she was right now. She smiled back at her new employer and crooking her arm, she waited for V to gather up her dress so she didn’t trip over its length. V placed her hand inside Angelina’s elbow and the two of them left the dressing room, pausing only for one last look at their appearances, laughing at each other in the mirror.

Although Angelina had seen much of the large old Parisian house over the past week, she had not realised there was a basement and it was here that she and V descended to in search of the garage where V’s Bentley was kept. They walked along a passage towards the light of the garage, passing several closed doors, one of which opened onto a wine cellar, another which held a storage area. The third door was painted scarlet. V walked past but Angelina stopped her. “What’s behind here?” she asked. Scarlet was surely an unusual colour for a storage or overflow area.

“We don’t want to be late for the club — I will show you another time.” V kept walking but Angelina’s interest was piqued. V had not hesitated to show her the other rooms — why be secretive with this one? “Madame, I’d really like to see what’s here. Why is the door painted red?”

V turned around and for the first time since Angelina had met her, she seemed apprehensive. Shy perhaps? This seemed out of character for her and this made Angelina even more curious about what was behind the door. V walked back down to the storage room, opened the door and disappeared inside. A second later she returned, holding a single golden key by a thin blood red cord. She gazed at Angelina long and hard as if considering the situation and then, raising her eyebrows, she put the key in the black lock and the tumblers fell back. She turned the knob and pushed the door open. It was pitch black, darker than the other rooms, until she reached out and hit a switch positioned just inside the room. Dim lighting made the objects fuzzy and slightly obscure until Angelina’s eyes accustomed to the low lighting. She gasped in amazement. The room was dotted with pieces of furniture — benches, a throne, suspension pulleys. On the walls were glass cases of whips and canes, and small pieces of metal for which she could only imagine their purpose. There was also an array of hoods. On the floor was what looked like a leather sleeping bag. The object that most caught her eye though was what looked like a giant wheel. “What’s that?” she asked, walking over to it. It was set on the back wall and various leather straps hung off it. She’d seen smaller versions of this sort of thing on television game shows — where people won prizes if the marker stopped in the right square. This one was a man-sized version though and the straps made her curious. She stood staring at it and didn’t notice V standing alongside her, until she spoke. “It’s a wheel of course.” Angelina looked at her, wondering if she was being sarcastic. “I know but what do you do with it?”

V sighed. “We are going to be late, but ok, I will show you.” She walked to the wheel and stood in front of it. She lifted her skirt above her knees and spread her legs so that her ankles were closer to the lower straps. She raised her arms and spread them so that her wrists were near to the upper straps. She leaned her head against the padded insert. Her eyes were closed and her lips slightly open. Angelina smiled and stepping over to her new mistress, she caught a strap around one thin wrist and tightened it. V opened her eyes. “What are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?” Angelina wasn’t smiling now and V’s eyes opened wider as she reached up for the other strap, tightening it and fastening it. V pulled on her wrists and kicked one leg out. “Easy, Madame, you will hurt yourself.”

“Stop now, you don’t know what you are doing.”

“Yes, I do. And so do you.”

Angelina fastened both ankles with their straps and lifted V’s skirt higher up, hiking it behind her bottom so that she rested against the folds of material. Angelina watched her mistress as she moved around her. V closed her eyes, a deep sigh coming from within her. “What are you going to do?” she asked, a slight tremble in her voice, though Angelina wasn’t deceived. Her mistress wasn’t really a mistress at all. She was a beautiful submissive and she wanted to be dominated. She’d given in very easily. Perhaps the years of dominating others, of bullying girls to become the best they could, of moulding them, of pushing them, of never being able to be less than Madame V, artiste extraordinaire, had taken their toll. Angelina had several times had suspicions during the week — a very slight loss of guard on the odd occasion and a gentler, more submissive, more questioning instead of commanding manner had emerged. Now Angelina wondered about V’s sincerity. She wondered too how far she could go. How far would she be allowed to go?

Ben Esra telefonda seni bosaltmami ister misin?
Telefon Numaram: 00237 8000 92 32

Bir cevap yazın

E-posta hesabınız yayımlanmayacak. Gerekli alanlar * ile işaretlenmişlerdir