The Beach House

'I guess you could try the local pub. I think they have rooms.'

'And where is that?'

'At the end of the street, on the right. You can't miss it.'

Lucy regarded her for a moment, wondering if she would frighten her off if she moved too quickly. The girl looked confident, though, with a self-assurance that was rare for one so young. She decided to take a chance. 'Do you have a few minutes to talk to me, Sarah? It won't take long and you might find it interesting.'

The girl glanced at her watch, then nodded. 'I need to be home by half five,' she said, 'but if Sharon turns up I'll have to go earlier.'

'Of course. Can I buy you a coffee, or something?' She watched the girl shake her head and thought again how beautiful she was. It wasn't just her looks -- there was something more: a directness of gaze that suggested she was comfortable in her own skin, that she could make decisions. Lucy thought she would not be subservient in a sexual liaison, and the notion pleased her. She liked aggressive partners.

'I mentioned I was here to look around, Sarah, which might seem a bit vague.' Eye contact was important so she leaned forward slightly, making sure the girl looked at her whilst she was speaking. 'I work for an agency -- I'm here to find girls who I think have the looks and the personality to be groomed for a modeling career.' She smiled and touched Sarah's arm. 'You might have what it takes.'

Sarah stared at her. 'You don't know anything about me,' she said. 'You've only been here a few minutes. How could you think that?'

'Why don't you call me Lucy,' the woman said smoothly. She regarded the girl for a moment. 'Sometimes a few minutes is all it takes,' Lucy explained. 'Sometimes -- not very often -- you see someone who just ticks all the right boxes.' Her fingers were still resting lightly on Sarah's arm and she could feel the warmth and texture of her skin. 'Look -- I'm not offering you anything. I'm just saying that my initial instinct is that you have the potential if you are interested in modeling as a career.'

'So what does that mean? What would I have to do?'

Lucy released the girl's arm reluctantly and sat back in her seat, thinking for a moment how to make her story sound convincing. 'Most young people think that modeling is just about the looks, Sarah, but it's not. Sure you have to be appealing -- but your character is just as important...you know, how well you deal with stress or with disappointment; whether you can fit into routines, how you get on with people.' She laughed lightly. 'Girls that tell you that modeling is glamorous are lying...most of it is waiting around for clients or on the sets for the shoot, or dealing with designers who think the sun shines out of their arses. I've spent whole days hanging around a set for jobs that lasted less than fifteen minutes.' She stopped and regarded the girl for a moment. 'Not everyone can do that,' she continued, 'so character is very important.'

'So what would I have to do?' Sarah asked again.

'Not much, really. I'd need to know a bit more about you so you'd have to spend a few hours with me.'

Sarah looked at her doubtfully. 'Would it be during school hours?'

'Oh no. I'd aim to make it as easy as I could. Evenings would be fine.'

'And how long would it take?'

Lucy smiled at her earnestness. 'A couple of evenings to begin with. Just you and me.' She noticed the girl's expression. 'On your turf, if you like,' she added hastily. 'Nothing tense, I promise you. Just spending time to get to know each other a little more.'

'Well...I don't know -'

Despite the girl's words Lucy could see she was interested. She placed her hand on the Sarah's arm again and squeezed it gently, her fingertips moving lightly on the glossy skin. 'Please,' she said. 'Not everyone gets this chance, Sarah. I think you'd regret it if you didn't even try. You can back out at any time...really, there's no obligation.'

'I'll have to speak to my parents.'

'Of course.' Lucy smiled. 'I could arrange to meet them, but only if they wanted to. The main thing is that you and I spend some time together.'

Sarah looked into Lucy's eyes and felt herself being drawn into their liquid brown depths. She was aware of the woman's touch but surprisingly, she was not offended. There was something about her that invoked trust, and she felt at ease. Surely a couple of evenings talking would not be a problem?

'All right,' she said. 'I'll ask Mum, but I'm sure she won't mind.'

Lucy smiled and squeezed her arm again. 'Good. I'm so pleased, Sarah. Shall I pick you up here at five tomorrow, then? Tell your Mum you'll be home by eleven.'

She saw the girl nod and she felt a sudden surge of triumph. Not much of what she had told the girl was true, but that didn't trouble her. She waited as Sarah left the café and watched her walking away, her long legs striding confidently and the pony tail swinging about her shoulders.

That went well, she thought. Now for the tricky bit.

*

That night Sarah thought about what had happened. She was a happy girl, content with her life and with the friends and the family she had. She'd never really thought too much about what the future might hold -- that was something you did after university. The idea of modeling had never occurred to her -- she simply hadn't associated herself with the glamorous stick insects that strutted on the catwalks in the glossy magazines she sometimes read. She walked to the mirror on the wardrobe door and regarded herself critically. My nose is not straight, she thought, and my breasts are too big: but other than that she was pleased with what she saw. Her eyes were her best feature: big and grey, fringed with thick lashes and full of light and expression.

Sarah was not a virgin. She'd lost her cherry at a party at a friend's house a couple of years earlier: a sordid fifteen minutes in a back bedroom with a boy whose name she could hardly remember, lying on the coats and jackets of other guests, frantic with haste in case someone came into the room to claim one. She'd spent the entire brief episode listening for footsteps outside, wondering whether they would be caught -- only vaguely aware of the initial pain of his penetration and of his sticky kisses and hot breath in her ear. He'd cum quickly and rolled off her, and she'd mopped up in the little upstairs bathroom and then rejoined the party.

She was smart enough to realise that sex could be so much better, and quickies and one-night stands were not for her. She realised too that the boys she knew were quite happy with head jobs instead, and it became her favoured way of dealing with them when sex was expected.

She regarded herself in the mirror and remembered last weekend. She'd knelt here, in this very spot, and taken her new boyfriend's cock into her mouth for the first time, working her lips around it and watching herself in the mirror. She remembered how her hair had swung back and forth with her movement, obscuring the image, and how she'd pulled back from him and looked up.

'Hold my hair,' she'd said. 'I want to watch.'

He'd gathered her hair up and held it, both of them looking at the reflection. She recalled his stance: legs slightly apart with his loins thrust forward, both hands on her head. To begin with he'd been content to stand still, letting her do the work, and she'd watched as her head bobbed back and forth. The reflection in the mirror had seemed disconnected: as if she was watching a pornographic actress as she pleasured a stud: the image of a blond girl with her long graceful neck and steady grey eyes -- so young and innocent, kneeling in supplication as her mouth was violated by the turgid flesh of the young man's shaft. She'd marveled at its length and rigidity, at the size of the great knob as it appeared from between her lips. She remembered how the shining silver trail of his love juice smeared against the purple hue of his arousal, and how it had gathered at the point of their union to ease the long slippery slide of his shaft back into her throat.

She'd used the mirror to learn: to watch his face to see what caused the most pleasure: loosening her mouth as she drew back to allow the soft wet inside of her lips to slither over his flesh until the thick purple knob popped free, his juice and her spit stringing between them in shining strands of gossamer silver; and tightening them as he slid forward, drawing in her cheeks to rub the soft inside of her mouth against his sensitive flesh. Her hands had looked small as they grasped the root of his cock, her fingers pale against the engorged meat, and her lips were stretched wide as her mouth touched them.

Sarah remembered how he'd started thrusting and how she'd kept still as he pistoned into her mouth. His hands were twisted in her hair, holding her, and his pendulous balls swung back and forth, bumping against her chin as he buried himself deep. His lubricant trickled over her tongue, coating the inside of her mouth and pooling in her throat until she was forced to swallow it in slippery lumps, and her spit dribbled from the seal of her lips around the shaft. He was gazing down at her, watching as he fucked her mouth with his eyes like shining pebbles and his mouth slack with pleasure, and he began to talk, the words broken and disjointed as his climax approached.

'Ah, fuck, Sarah...fuck, fuck,' he said. 'That's so good, baby...ugh! Can you see it? Watch...ah, watch me spurt...ah, fuck -- here it comes....ugh....here it comes, baby.'

With a convulsive thrust he buried himself deep into her face and Sarah watched in the mirror, seeing his shaft throb and pulse as he spurted. She felt the hot cream of his jism splatter into her mouth, rich and pungent as it bathed her taste buds. The sheer volume was surprising -- so much more than other boys, and instinctively she'd tilted her head forward to avoid choking, watching with hooded eyes as beads of pearl appeared at the corners of her mouth.

And then he was done and he withdrew his shaft, the great purple head popping free. She recalled how she'd loosened her lips to allow the strands of his sperm to fall free: watching as it dribbled over her chin to hang in shining, slippery threads. A seemingly endless stream, oozing from her mouth like clotted cream, falling from her face to coat her breasts and to loop over her swollen nipples like strands of exotic jewelry. She touched it with her fingers, feeling its warmth and its texture, smearing it over her skin so it gleamed silver in the pale evening light and she inhaled its pungent aroma, her brain suffused with lust at what she had done.

And later that night she'd played with herself, her fingers buried in the wet clasping flesh of her pussy as she remembered how he had fucked her mouth and how the hot jets of sperm had felt and tasted, and how it had looked as it oozed from between her shining wet lips.

*

Sarah turned away from the mirror and thought about the woman in the café. Lucy. Was she really talent spotting girls for modeling? It seemed too good to be true -- and yet it was happening. In a couple of hours she'd see her again and they would talk, and she would get to know the woman a little better too. She realised that she was looking forward to it, for nothing exciting happened in her little village and it was nice to think that someone so beautiful and sophisticated thought she was special. Lucy. A pretty name. She wondered if she was married, and whether she was still modeling, and whether she would be her friend even if it all came to nothing.

She opened the wardrobe door and she began to hum a little tune as her eyes moved over her dresses, looking for something special. Lucy, she thought. I can do it, Lucy. I can be beautiful and sophisticated and self assured too, but I need someone to show me. Someone like you. I'll learn, Lucy, if you'll teach me. I'll be your friend.

*

Lucy Carter-Bayliss watched Sarah as she stood outside the café. She saw her little red dress and her long golden legs, and how she had brushed her hair into a shining curtain that curled softly on her shoulders. She was struck again by her beauty: not just her face, but the way she held herself -- the set of her shoulders and the tilt of her head, and the lithe sensuousness of her body. She saw her matching red shoes and the gold lamé evening bag and the thin gold chain around her neck and she understood that this was the very best that the girl owned, and that she was wearing it for her. For a moment she experienced a surge of unexpected tenderness, but that was quickly replaced by the cold practicality of what had to be done. She opened the car door and called out.

'Sarah.'

The girl walked towards her, her heels clicking crisply on the pavement. 'Hi Lucy,' she said. Her voice was breathless, as if she had been running or perhaps because she was nervous. 'I expected you to be inside.'

'I thought we might go to Torbess instead, ' Lucy said. She watched as Sarah climbed in beside her, the flash of her golden thighs as the dress rode up her legs. 'There's a lovely little restaurant there, if you like. You haven't eaten, have you?'

'Uh, no. I thought we would have a sandwich or something.'

The woman smiled. 'Oh, I think we can do a little better than that. What time do you have to be home?'

The girl smiled. 'I told Mum eleven, like you said.'

'That's fine.' She waited until the girl had fastened her seat belt and then leaned over and kissed her softly on the cheek. 'Thank you for coming, Sarah. I'm sure you'll have a good time tonight. Now, are you all ready?'

Lucy watched the girl nod, and saw that she was nervous. She put the car into gear and moved off. 'I know you don't know me very well Sarah, but I think we can be friends,' she said. 'Would you like to know a bit about me so you can feel more at ease?'

'Sure.'

'Well, I live in London. I'm twenty-six and single -- I guess you could say I'm between relationships. I'm a professional model. I like cooking, dancing, photography and travel. I don't do drugs but I like good wine and the occasional shot. I think integrity and loyalty are the best of all values. I like shopping for clothes and music that has decent lyrics.' She paused for a moment. 'Oh, and I have a good sense of humour and people tell me I'm good at listening.' She laughed. 'And that's about it...my life in one paragraph.'

Sarah laughed with her. 'I'm sure there's more than that. Tell me how you got into the modeling business.'

Lucy explained as she drove, recounting her story about a photographer who had spotted her and how it had developed into a career. She remembered to include a few funny stories she had heard from a part time model once and was pleased when the girl laughed. Before they knew it she drew up outside the restaurant.

Sarah peered through the car window. 'Oh, wow! We're not going in there, are we?'

'That's what I had in mind.'

'But I know this place and it's really expensive! I can't afford -'

Lucy waved her hand dismissively. 'Don't worry about it. You're on company time now.'

Their table was in a secluded corner of the restaurant, tucked away from prying eyes. The Maître d' escorted them to their table and Lucy waited until the menus had been delivered. She scanned the wine list and turned to the girl. 'Will you have wine, Sarah, or would you prefer something else?'

'Just a glass of white wine, thank you.' Sarah didn't normally drink but she felt it would be childish to ask for a soft drink.

Lucy ordered the wine and then sat back and regarded the girl. She guessed that the family didn't have much money, or at least didn't go out much, and she understood that the surroundings might be a little uncomfortable for her. Perhaps she should have chosen a less expensive place - but she wanted to impress her.

Sarah regarded the softly lit room with its crisp white tablecloths and the fine Riedel glasses and the bright polished cutlery. 'This is very posh, Lucy,' she whispered and she laughed self-consciously. 'I had no idea we would be coming here. I would have worn something different.'

'You look stunning, Sarah. I don't think any other dress would have been better.'

'Do you really think so?'

'I know it.' She rested her hand on the girl's arm. 'You know, if you do become a model you'll be going to a lot of exclusive and expensive places. But underneath all the glitter and shine they're really no different. The only thing that makes them special is the prices.'

'And the people.' Sarah looked around. 'They're all rich and important, I'm sure.'

Lucy shrugged. 'Probably not. Most of them are only legends in their own minds.' She inclined her head at a table across the room. 'Tell me what you think about them.'

The girl regarded the couple for a moment. The man was in his mid forties, dressed in a heavy suit and with a swarthy complexion and thinning hair. He was leaning forward to engage the younger woman opposite him -- a slight girl with dark hair and thin arms.

'I'd say he was a stockbroker or something like that, with a younger wife.'

Lucy laughed. 'Maybe. More likely a manager of a local business. He's brought his secretary out for a night. He's worrying about how to how to hide the bill from his wife and whether he'll get his end away with her.'

Sarah regarded them with interest. 'You think so?'

'Sure. Most of the people here are frauds, I bet -- pretending to be something they are not, or richer than they are.' She realised her words described herself perfectly, and she smiled at the irony. 'You and I are probably the only normal people here.'

'You're not normal,' the girl said.

'Pardon?'

'I mean, you live such a glamorous life -- travelling, doing modeling, meeting people all the time. I'd love to be like that,' she said shyly. She looked down at Lucy's hand, still resting on her arm. 'And you make people feel welcome,' she added. 'You make them feel at ease, even if they are not as sophisticated as you.'

Lucy withdrew her hand. 'Sorry. I'm a sort of touchy feely person.'

'I don't mind at all,' Sarah said. 'Our family is like that, so I'm used to it.' She broke off as the waiter appeared and they both ordered their food.

'So tell me about yourself,' Lucy said when he had gone. 'Your family, what you do and what you'd like to do.'

The girl considered for a moment. 'My Dad's an engineer -- well, a consultant now. He gets work from time to time and heads off to wherever it is. Last time it was Dubai. Mum's a housewife -- she loves socializing though...you know, Bridge parties and Pilates classes twice a week, that sort of thing.'

'Do you have any brothers or sisters?'

Sarah nodded. 'One brother. Michael. He's two years older than me -- a carpenter.' She grimaced briefly. 'Dad thinks that blue collar trades are beneath our station. He wanted his son to be an engineer and is still disappointed, but it's an honest profession, I think, being able to make stuff with your hands.' She paused for a moment, thinking about her brother. 'He was really busy until the GFC,' she continued, 'but now he only gets work on and off, so he's living at home again.'

'Do you get on well together?'

'Sure, as much as any brothers and sisters do. I really don't know him.'

'And you live at home, too?'

'Oh yes. This is my last year at school, and then university if I do well enough. I'd like to study Veterinary Science.'

'What about a boyfriend?'

The girl grimaced briefly. 'No one special. The local boys are mostly farmer's lads which is great if you want to talk about sheep drenching or cattle bloat.'

Lucy laughed. 'Wouldn't that be interesting to a potential Vet?'

Sarah smiled and shook her head. 'Not when you're trying to socialise. I went out with one guy who spent the entire evening talking about parasitic worms.'