Appleby Blush Ch. 02

Chapter 2: Kirsten's Audition

The taxi pulled up outside the sumptuous looking building that boasted Appleby Modelling in red across the cream façade. Next to the words was the smaller red apple symbol that connected all Appleby businesses. Kirsten had spent an hour on the computer researching as much as she could before leaving the Met. Now she was on her own.

She raised her eyebrows as the driver told her the fare—was travelling to Croydon really that expensive? Maybe she should have taken the car after all, but then she'd have been worried about traffic, getting lost, being late. Still, there was no way Sandra Wilson would allow her to claim that amount on her expenses.

Not unless she came up with something useful...

The clean white foyer was surprisingly empty, with only a directional sign indicating the location of the reception. The heavy lift took her up three floors and opened directly into a spacious reception. The clinical white walls surprised her. She'd expected something different, more vibrant—maybe prints of successful models or photo shoots? Instead, only a single imposing framed picture on the opposite wall disturbed the equilibrium.

She knew from her internet research that the man smiling down at her from the wall was none other than Donald Appleby. He looked an imposing figure and she momentarily wondered if he was the successful businessman the financial world thought? Or a criminal mastermind who'd so far gone undetected?

With a confidence that she didn't really feel, she straightened her back and turned towards the curly haired receptionist. The near perfect make-up the woman wore made her look attractive enough to be a model herself and those thick red curls that sat just above her shoulders and matched her beautiful freckled face. The woman had no inhibitions about showing off her curvy body in that short, light blue dress—look at those tits!

What was she doing behind a desk when she looked like she'd be more at home in front of a camera? Was that the standard she'd have to compete with? Any thoughts of passing the audition drifted away immediately like a straw on the wind. If Appleby's employees looked so hot and sexy, what would their models be like?

"Kirsten?" the woman asked, shooting her the brightest of smiles.

Wow, that was impressive. They knew who she was. "Yes."

"You're expected," she softly said. "Just take a seat and Tony will be with you shortly. He's on his way."

"Thanks... Marcia?" she said, smiling back. Maybe she could gather some information before the audition commenced? Who better than a receptionist to have an insight into the workings of a business?

"Yes, that's right," the girl acknowledged, crinkling her nose. "You're welcome."

"Tell me—" Kirsten began, but as the young woman's eyes flickered over her shoulder she realised there'd be no room for conversation.

Swinging around, her heart almost stopped. She was face to face with an ebony bodied Adonis. Wesley Snipes, eat your heart out...

"Hi Kirsten," the deep voice boomed. "I'm Tony."

Kirsten felt a soft shiver flutter through her body as she shook his hand. He was definitely fairly muscular beneath the jeans and casual white shirt. Just her type.

"Tony Daly," he continued. "We spoke on the phone. Come on through."

Her eyes covered his butt as she followed his rolling gate along the corridor. Even in the jeans, it was obvious his ass was hard and muscular. She idly wondered what reaction she'd get if she pinched it. Giggling under her breath, she decided against telling Matt that particular thought.

Like the reception area, the large room they entered was minimalist in appearance. Apart from the heavy desk that contained a telephone at one end and a computer beside it, the only other furniture consisted only of a couple of chairs and a glass cabinet that seemed to be filled with videotapes and cd's.

The room needed a woman's touch...

"Centre of operations," he smiled, pointing to a seat and then casually perching on the edge of the desk beside her. It creaked ominously as he eased his muscular frame down. "Drink?" he asked, twisting around and reached for two glasses without waiting for a reply. He handed the one with the pink liquid to her.

"Thanks," she smiled, accepting the drink and taking a sip. All going smoothly so far, she told herself.

"First," he said, resting one hand on his knee, "we don't stand on ceremony here. We're a typical agency, short on the niceties but we're the best in the world at promoting our models. We're looking to find someone with the potential to be a real supermodel. Another Gabrielle Dubois, Alicia Styles, Kelli Palmer..."

She felt her throat catch. Daly had just named three of the most sought after women in the modelling world. It would be a short audition before they threw her out, she told herself. As for all this nonsense that had gone through her mind about trying to make it as a model rather than continuing in the Met. A girl could dream, couldn't she? But the harsh reality was that she'd never be able to compete at this sort of level.

"You're not tied to an agency?"

"No, not at all," she told him. Wilson had briefed both her and Alice on their stories and she had it off by heart. "I've done quite a bit of small time modelling but nothing in your league."

"Just what we're looking for," he answered, his keen gaze not leaving her sparkling brown eyes. "We need new, fresh talent, and for the successful few we offer a very competitive contract. And our organisation offers all the support to keep you on the right track—contracts and so on."

"That sounds great," she answered, taking another sip. She tried to place the drink but couldn't. It tasted kind nice, though. If she played her cards right, maybe she could get an insight into the business from Daly before the audition was finished? She could feel the start of a lick of heat between her loins just from looking into those dark soulful eyes.

They beamed at her. "It's all standard stuff. Depending on how things progress, we can agree the details later. But let's not get ahead of ourselves, I like to start with a positive but its one step at a time. You'll know, of course, what today's all about? You'll have auditioned plenty of times. We're no different."

"Yes," she confidently lied to him. It couldn't be that difficult could it?

He rested his hands on the desk behind him and leaned back. "I have to say, Kirsten, the photo you sent with your application impressed us. And I can tell you that you match up to my expectations."

She smiled at him—he was smooth as well as cute. No doubt he was giving her the same spiel he gave everyone else at this stage, but it did her confidence no harm. "Thank you."

"So we're off to a good start," Daly grinned. "Next step is the audition itself. I'll take some photos of you in the studio. How you look infront of a camera will determine whether there's any point in taking this further."

"Okay..."

Reaching behind him, he flicked on his computer. "I see hundreds of models every month, Kirsten. They're all beautiful and all have great bodies. The camera will tell me if you're something special." He suddenly swung his gaze away from the screen and back to her. "Are you?"

The question took her by surprise and she took another sip of her drink, feeling it hit that spot between her thighs. "I... don't really—"

"Whoa," he laughed. "Modesty has its place, but not in this business. If someone asks you that sort of question, you tell them you're the most special thing that's ever walked this planet. Okay?"

Kirsten laughed. She'd expected the whole process to be much more formal but Daly's free and easy style made her feel comfortable. Maybe that was why she was suddenly starting to feel horny, she wondered, taking another drink? Well... that and his muscular black body! "Okay," she agreed, crossing her legs as if that would contain the heat she was feeling.

"Good. Now then, let's see if the bod matches your looks. If so, we'll bring you back tomorrow..."

"Tomorrow?"

"Sure," he told her, fiddling with his computer. "We'll take a few photos that can be used for a couple of magazines we work with. So that'll bring you a small fee. But more importantly, it will give us a clear view of whether we think we can work with you going forward. Then we're into serious talks. How does that sound?"

"Sounds wonderful," Kirsten replied. He spoke so positively that she wondered if she was in with a chance after all. Or was this an act he put on with all the women he auditioned? Maybe she was writing herself off too soon? Could it be that she might actually have a chance of changing career? Calm yourself, she chuckled inwardly. Play it cool and then quiz him for more information before she left. And she'd chat to Marcia in reception, too. She had a job to do.

"Do I get to meet Mr. Appleby?" she casually probed, flicking her fingers through her dark wavy hair as she finished her drink.

Daly laughed. "Mr. Appleby? No, I'm afraid he has far more interesting things to occupy his time than the day to day running of his business. You will meet Carmella, though."

"Carmella?"

"You must have heard of her. Everyone who takes an interest in fashion has heard of Carmella Santiago..."

"Carmella Santiago!" Kirsten gushed. "She was Miss World before she became a supermodel, wasn't she?"

"Miss Universe," Tony Daly said, winking at her. "That was well over fifteen years ago—amazing isn't it? Another ten years of success as a supermodel and since then she's worked for Mr. Appleby. She manages the Agency and that's another reason why we're the best in the business. This is the chance of a lifetime, Kirsten."

The brunette nodded—the whole world had heard of Carmella Santiago. It was inconceivable anything untoward could be happening here if such a world renowned former supermodel was in control of the business. Wasn't it?

"Okay, Kirsten," Daly continued. "Time for the shoot. You're feeling good?"

"Very," she smiled at him. Much better than she had been when she'd walked into the place. Then she'd felt the buzz that always accompanied undercover work. That buzz was still there, but it was accompanied by a feeling of excitement that was parading between her thighs. The sensation worked itself up a couple of notches at Daly's next words.

"The bikinis are in the dressing room," he said, jumping energetically to his feet.

Bikinis? Neither she nor Sandra Wilson had anticipated that one.

"Something wrong?" he suddenly asked, crossing his arms over his broad chest. "Hey, I've seen a thousand of beautiful women in bikinis. But listen, Kirsten, to get through to the next stage, you've got to impress me. Show me something different. Ready?"

Kirsten hoped the smile she shot him portrayed more confidence than she was actually feeling. Her body was in pretty good shape so what was she worried about? Besides, the thought of displaying her body was actually quite a turn on. All she'd have to do to get through the session was to imagine he was Wesley Snipes. "Sure," she smiled.

"Good girl." He nodded at the door. "Okay, let me show you the way to the dressing rooms. If you shower first and then choose either of the bikinis, we can get down to business..."

***

Carmella Santiago was renowned for being one of the sexiest of supermodels, rather than the outstanding businesswoman she was today. The lavish party Donald Appleby was throwing in a couple of days was to celebrate her fortieth birthday—as well as being a vehicle to enhance his business interests, of course. She'd shared those interests ever since she'd left the catwalks behind her to oversee the running of his modelling agency.

Even now, the Columbian woman still turned heads wherever she went, and she'd made it a policy to stay low key publicly so that very few people realised she was the driving force behind one of Appleby's most crucial of companies.

She'd proven even more successful in the business field as she had in the fashion industry and had soon turned it into a successful agency in its own right, too. That gave it an air of legitimacy although it wasn't the primary purpose, of course. It was a wonderful vehicle through which they could entice young women into his escort and prostitution operation, and use the best of their unsuspecting prey in their lucrative online porn operation.

The business magnate had always appreciated talent whenever he saw it and his unerring eye had settled on Carmella during his time as a judge on the Miss Universe competition all those years ago. Offstage, they'd clicked immediately. It wasn't only her age, beauty or body that had attracted him—her IQ exceeded the rest of the contestants combined.

The Columbian beauty had won the competition hands down and had thrown herself into her Miss Universe duties for the following twelve months with her usual drive. Fulfilling those obligations had also allowed her to seek out and build up contacts that would be of value to her—and Donald Appleby—in the future.

Her foresight had been rewarded with a trusted place at the heart of his operations. Who else knew him and his business interests inside out? Who else had proven themselves to be so trustworthy and faithful over such a long period? Who else watched his back at all times? And who else fucked him with such abandon whenever he crooked his little finger?

It had been so romantic the way he'd flown her by private jet to Monte Carlo the morning after her Miss Universe success. She'd anticipated staying in one of the principalities top hotels but it turned out he had his own private villa, complete with servants. And making love in one of the four-posters overlooking the Mediterranean Sea had been unbelievable.

It had been the first of many such visits to the French Riviera.

Pushing the door closed behind her, the striking beauty flicked on the various screens dotted around the console, wanting to catch up on anything new. Her business trip to the Bahamas in Appleby's private jet had been fruitful as well as enjoyable, but had left her out of touch with developments over the last few days. Tony Daly would brief her, of course, but right now he was busy with one of their first time auditions.

Flicking a switch, she honed in on yesterday's online broadcast. Daly had auditioned the blonde the day before she'd left for the Bahamas and it appeared she'd been a great hit with the regular followers of Tony's show.

As the screen flickered into life, Tony Daly's onscreen head flopped back on the floor as the blonde took him inside her mouth, working his monster of a dick with all the enthusiasm of a young cheerleader. Smiling to herself, she ruminated that life was so much easier with Appleby Blush to smooth away any concerns their victims might have.

The aphrodisiac not only instantly heightened a woman's sexual need to fever pitch proportions but it swept away any inhibitions, too. Even when the sex crazed women knew it was wrong, it was impossible for them to resist the itch that the drug had created. That meant they would invariably follow any sort of direction or suggestion.

Bitches on heat, she laughed to herself. That was the name of the online show that Tony Daly starred in and that they broadcast live several times a week. Bring in new women who wanted to be models, give them some Blush, and then fuck them for the rest of the afternoon while broadcasting it on pay-to-view internet had proven an irresistible formula.

Bitches on heat. Even the name for the show was her idea.

And of course, once they had videos of their models performing with Tony, they had all the blackmail material needed to ensure the women stayed with them, often moving onto escort duties when a client needed to be satisfied, or a contact needed to be trapped.

They'd got it down to a fine art...

Her eyes returned to the large flat screen on the opposite wall, drawn there by the almost hysterical moans of the onscreen blonde. The woman was now on her hands and knees and Tony Daly was taking her doggie style. Blush was like that. It aroused women beyond anything they'd ever experienced and the young blonde was willingly having her brains fucked out by the black photographer cum porn star.

Photographer—now there was a misnomer if ever she'd heard of one. She'd seen some of the stuff he shot and it was amateurish in the extreme. But that wasn't the point. The hidden video cameras scattered all around the studio and dressing rooms were what really mattered. The camera in Daly's hand was simply a means to an end.

Her head jerked back to the action. "Harder!" the onscreen blonde was grunting.

Daly was raised up on one knee now, and his shaved balls bouncing lewdly across her wet labial lips. His large black hands left the woman's white hips and reached underneath her bent body to grab the gravity defying tits that demanded attention. She screamed at him again as she worked her clit, her voice becoming little more than a high-pitched shriek.

Carmella's hand dropped to her expensive slacks and eased the zip down before snaking inside. She had to admit it—Tony Daly might not be much of a photographer but he was a very good fuck. His shows had reached cult status in the underground porn market and their foresight in using an assumed name—Solomon Sloane—in his shows ensured the connection between him and the modelling agency was closely protected.

Maybe she'd allow herself to experience that black cock one day, despite her resolve never to mix business with pleasure. Even before her climax had run its course, the out of control woman had Jermaine on his back now, slithering her body down on his so that she could ride him like a rodeo bull.

Carmella ran her finger tips across her smooth mound and down into her wetness as she took one final glance at those bouncing tits. She needed to check on today's girl. Flicking another switch, the onscreen picture changed to a brunette in the shower. Perfect timing! The hidden cameras would remain on her throughout the audition... the live feed would continue to broadcast to their growing audience... and the more hits they had, the more money that would instantly find its way by credit card to the Appleby account.

The formula was simple yet potent.

From the way the brunette's hand was working across her shaved mound, the Columbian woman knew that Daly had already fed her a dose of Blush. The woman really was a sexy thing, a rare combination of heady beauty and a fabulous body. Carmella's fingers probed further inside her slacks, pulling the side of her thong out of the way so she could reach her clit.

The trip to the Bahamas meant she hadn't had sex for a few days. She'd be addressing that tonight as soon as she saw Donald.

***

Her orgasm in the shower had settled Kirsten's nerves, although she couldn't quite understand why she was feeling so aroused. Masturbating like that, in the tiled shower—she'd never done such a thing in her life. Was it the thought of slipping into one of those skimpy bikinis and showing her body to Tony Daly?

The dressing room was empty other than for the long the rack and the two skimpy bikinis that hung from it seemed out of place. Naked, her body was reflected in the large mirror that covered the entirety of the far wall. Only the flashing red lights at either end of the room disturbed the blandness. They must be for security?

Kirsten's eyes ran across her reflection in the mirror. Even if she said it herself, her curvy body didn't have an inch of excess fat and she nodded in appreciation as her dark eyes covered the contours of her full breasts, flat stomach and wide hips. She raised her hands to the thrusting swells that sat so beautifully high breasts and her thumbs casually flicked across her dark nipples. Despite her recent climax, a shiver of arousal flooded her body.