Two Pairs of Panties

The Audition Part 1

"What do you mean Bernie?"

The, nearing sixty, Harvard educated, theatrical agent and artist manager looked at me with a stern look.

"You haven't been in artist PR that long have you Tina?"

"Er no," I replied hesitantly feeling a little uncomfortable with the way the conversation was going.

Bernie Aldrich was the owner of the artist management company I had joined a few months ago; well it was a change from advertising and boring PR. I had been around those industries since leaving university. Initially I worked in my home country, Holland, then had spells in the US, Hong Kong and Germany, before settling in London when I married in my early thirties. That lasted only a few years and after the divorce I wanted a new start. Hence, now in my late thirties, I responded to a head-hunter and joined AMI, Artist Management International, where I have worked now for three years. I had done well and was in the process of being assessed for a big job.

Bernie had started the agency some twenty-five years ago and had built it into a powerhouse of an agency. He had represented many of the world's top rock and film stars and was now held in high, but as far as I could tell, fading regard. Many of the younger talent looked for younger, trendier agents and Bernie's abortive efforts to get into sports management had cast doubts over his earlier 'midas touch.' He had lost a number of mega clients recently and was desperately trying to hold onto those he had not lost.

He earned well in excess of fifty million dollars a year and ran the global agency, he had offices in twenty countries, in an autocratic manner with the typical old-fashioned 'rod of iron' approach. He was married, but was reputed to have a mistress or two and he had a reputation for being a bit of a ladies man.

We were in his fortieth floor, huge office in mid-town Manhattan that looked out towards Staten Island. I was sitting on a low, black leather chair in the conference area across the room from his enormous desk against which he was leaning. He walked over and standing behind me rested his fingers on my shoulders.

"Tina, artist management is different to all other forms of PR."

"Yes I realise that."

"I am not sure you do or appreciate that it is much more personal, intimate almost," was the rather worrying reply as thoughts of being fired went through my mind

"What do you mean?" I asked looking at the beautifully manicured fingernails resting on my shoulders.

"Managing the media and public relations of superstar and exceedingly rich individuals is more than just column inches Tina," he went on maybe squeezing my shoulder a little more firmly.

"Yes I realise that."

"I wonder if you really do realise that Tina."

"I do Bernie really."

He came round the settee and sat beside me. I was wearing a black, Jean Muir suit with an on the knee pencil skirt. As I was in a period where I had put weight on it was probably a little too tight round my hips and bum and certainly was far too tight round my tits, which seemed to just keep getting bigger and bigger. Under the three-button jacket, I was wearing a button up the front, collarless shirt. The skirt had ridden up to probably seven or eight inches above my knee so I was showing plenty of black nylon, well it was early springtime and a little chilly in New York . As I was expecting to meet a date later this evening I had decided to wear holdup stockings and was hoping against hope that I wasn't flashing my stocking tops.

With his knee almost touching mine, he said.

"What we do Tina with our artists is all about relationships, not really publicity. The fucking jerks get that themselves, our job is to manage the publicity, but all the agents can do that. Talk to the right papers and TV people and it's easy as you and all the fucking PR industry knows. So it's how we get on with the artist that keeps us in business"

"Yes of course," I said feeling nervous, something that was unusual for me.

"So it is how our people get on with the customer and develop relationships that wins and keeps business my dear. You understand?"

"Of course, but other measures also count," I retorted, perhaps not being that wise to be disagreeing with him.

He leaned forward and looking me in the eye he said softly as, totally ignoring political correctness, he rested his fingers on my knee.

"Yes but that's not your job."

I did not reply and waited for him to continue.

"You Tina, do not worry your pretty little head about fucking column inches, air time or how many times they appear in Hello or TV Enquirer, " he said looking at my long, black hair I was wearing in a pony-tail, adding with a smile. "And it is a pretty head my dear and those horn rim, glasses make you look even more er, if I may say so, sexy."

"Thank you Bernie," I mumbled now becoming confused. I was wondering whether he was making a pass at me and more confusingly and worryingly wondering even more what my reaction would be if he was!

"Believe me Tina," he went on now softly, almost as if it was an unconscious gesture, rubbing my leg just above my knee. "It's all about developing personal relationships. Nothing more and nothing less, just how you get on with the client, that's all it is. All the rest is down to others. I have geeks and analysts who get the publicity broadcast and schmoozers who get it to the right places"

"Yes I see what you mean."

"Take this Dempsy character in Bandana," he said mentioning one of the agency's top stars. "He's as big as anyone and couldn't really give a fuck what the papers say. He's too big to worry, he earns too much, he's as rich as god and his head is so fucked up with pills and the two grand a day he shoves up his nose that he has no idea what's going on. It's how he gets on with his agent that really matters."

"Yes," I mumbled feeling little shivers run through me as his fingers went a slightly further up the side of my knee.

"And that means my dear how he gets on with you. You get me."

I had no real idea what he was on about.

"Er sort of yes."

"Sort of love?" He asked squeezing my knee. "What do you mean?"

"Why does getting on with me have anything to do with it?"

"Well you are going to look after him and the band on the American leg of their tour. Has no one told you?"

"No."

"Fuck, I give up on people. That's why you are here."

"Is it? No one briefed me."

"I tell you our London office is the fucking pits."

Bernie explained that we represented Bandana in Europe, South America and Africa, but not the rest of the world and particularly not in the United States. It had been announced recently by their management company that the group was looking for one agency to represent them globally.

"So Tina, your job is simple. At the worst keep what we have and at best get them globally."

"I see, well sort of," I answered honestly, as I had no real idea what he was rambling on about as he rubbed my leg, now well above my knee.

"Look Tina you are earning the best part of a mil a year in dollars aren't you?"

"Yes. Yes I am."

"I am sure that I don't have to tell you that for that amount I don't expect sort of."

"No right of course not," I said as confidently as I could as I watched his hand move round my leg and his fingers slide down the inside the tips being stopped my other leg.

"I expect for sure, can you do for sure?"

"Yes I am sure I can."

"How sure Tina?" He asked, quite pointedly it seemed to me sliding his hand a few inches further up my leg until it nearly reached the hem of my skirt.

I looked at him trying to work out whether he was simply after a quick grope, whether he wanted to fuck me or whether this was some form of test. I didn't reply for a moment or two, but simply looked at him.

"Well?" He asked.

"I can do sure."

"Are you certain Tina?" He asked inching his hand further upwards until it went under my skirt.

I looked him right in the eye.

"Yes" I murmured softly, my head whirring with the possible outcomes of this meeting.

"Are you really certain my dear?"

"Yes Bernie I am."

"And you are certain you can and will do for sure for Dempsy and his band."

"Yes I will."

"You do realise don't you that we, well I, chose you for this job because you are a woman Tina, a very attractive and incredibly sexy woman."

"No I didn't realise that."

"Well it seemed natural as most of the clients are men and you have a very healthy appetite for sex."

"I beg your pardon?" I asked, really not sure what he was getting at.

"You know full well what I mean."

"Bernie I don't."

"Tina please don't treat me like an idiot."

"I'm not."

"Then accept and realise that I know all about you."

"What do you mean?"

"Simple my dear. I know who you fuck and when you fuck them."

"I am not er, um" I stammered not sure how blunt to be, but then bolstering my courage blurted out. "Fucking anyone at present."

"Not that black stud who fucked you on Saturday and who is looking forward to a repeat performance this evening when you will fit him in between finishing work and having dinner with Dempsy?" He said very softly.

I realised of course that he must have me and presumably other agents under some form of surveillance.

The cesspit that the entertainment industry has become seemed to be engulfing me as Bernie told me the home truths. I tried going for humour as he squeezed my thigh just under the hem of the skirt.

"I see," I said seriously, but then tried to lighten the mood with humour. "And I thought it was my brain and success that got me the job" I retorted with a smile.

"Well that as well of course, but then you know as well as I do that the brain is the most erotic organ in the body, don't you Tina?"

"Yes Bernie it is."

"And so my dear how can you persuade me that you can do for sure?" He asked squeezing my leg and looking me right in the eyes.

I held his gaze, leaned back a little and asked.

"Does this help?" As I opened my legs.

More audition

Sitting on the tube on the way to Heathrow to get the noon BA flight to Kennedy to meet up with Dempsy and the rest of the Bandana band and management, my mind went back to the afternoon in Bernie's office. That afternoon, when my responses and reactions to him got me this job. It was at a much enhanced remuneration and benefits package. That would be even more enhanced if I could hold onto the Bandana representation where we currently had it. If I could expand it and, by some miracle, get America then, as Bernie had said as he rubbed my thighs, 'you can name your price.'

"And Tina always remember, that most men will want to fuck you and in the artist representation world many women will too, so at least give them the feeling that they have a chance. An air of availability, is one of the most erotic feelings for a man. And we both know don't we that in the right circumstances you can make yourself available can't you?"

"Yes," I mumbled quietly feeling duly contrite, rather guilty and quite ashamed of myself.

"Because you see Tina that way you will be persuasive, get it?"

I could recall almost word for word and deed by deed what was said and what had happened.

"Oh yes my dear," Bernie said huskily as I leaned back and parted my legs. "That could be very persuasive."

Without hesitation, he slid his hand further up my leg.

"Oh my God Tina," he groaned when his fingers felt the skin between my black thong and the tops of the holdup stockings that I was wearing for a later appointment and not him. With one hand he yanked my skirt further up and pushed me so that my back was against the arm of the sofa and with the other he picked up a remote control and clicked it at the door.

"I don't think we need any visitors, not even the delicious Miss Martinez do we? He said mentioning the gorgeous looking Jennifer Lopez lookalike who sat outside his office doing what no one knew except vet Bernie's visitors and look gorgeous and sexy.

"That is sensational Tina," he groaned staring at the front of my black thong, the black stocking tops and my creamy white upper thighs.

He rubbed along the gusset of my panties as sighing and moaning he slid his other hand up and cupped my boob outside the shirt. He found my clit and rubbed that as he muttered.

"Oh yes Tina this is very persuasive."

He made no attempt to kiss me or get my tits out and seemed content to rub me, well at least for a while. I found myself hating what I was doing, but at the same time, I could not resist the pleasure his fingers were giving me.

"Undo your shirt," he grunted.

I wanted to refuse, but that was impossible and soon my white painted fingernails were fumbling with the buttons undoing them one by one. When I had dressed that morning I knew I would be removing my jacket during the day so I wasn't wearing a matching set of underwear; my bra was white lace from Perla. About as flimsy and delicate as a garment that was supposed to give some support could be, it was as good as see-through. He liked that.

"That's a beautiful, no, well it is beautiful, but more so Tina it's a very persuasive sight. Undo it and let me see them" he went on still rubbing me outside my panties. I was near to cumming and in other circumstances I would have given into the sensations, but in the position I was with the head of the agency and one of the very top agents in the world, I was resisting strongly.

Reaching behind me, I undid the clasp and let him slide the cups off my breasts.

"Those lovely nipples Tina," he whispered licking them and sucking one into his mouth as he pushed my panties to one side. His finger slid along my wetness and slightly inside.

Now, in the first class lounge at Terminal Five at Heathrow with those recollections running through my mind, I inevitably became aroused and I found my hand that wasn't holding the complimentary champagne being tempted towards my breast. Staring across the lounge at the, mainly male travellers I was tempted to go to the loo and masturbate. I didn't though and instead simply sat there recalling that amazing promotion interview.

As I recalled his finger on my pussy, I remembered that I had grunted with the surge of pleasure.

"Do you want to cum?" He asked sliding a finger or two in me and sucking my nipple at the same time.

I didn't want to say or do what I did, but cradling his head I moaned. "Yes. Yes please I do."

His fingers then became straight and firm just like a cock. Sucking my nipples in turn, he pumped his fingers in and out of me fast and firmly. I was soon cumming.

"Oh yes Tina that really is very, very persuasive" he muttered as my climax erupted.

He took his hand away from my pussy leaving me lying back in the corner of the leather settee my skirt bunched round my waist, my blouse unbuttoned, my bra unclipped and round my lower chest with my breasts bare; a sordid scene indeed. He moved away from me as if to avoid any affection.

"Good Tina?" He asked from where he was standing his back turned towards me

"Yes," I said lifting my bra in preparation for getting dressed.

"Hey, what do you think you're doing?" He asked as he turned.

"Getting dressed."

"Not so quick, young lady. I'm not totally sure you have been as persuasive as you might," he went on walking back towards the sofa.

I looked up at him and watched with a touch of horror as he undid his zip. As calm as anything he slid his trousers off and sat beside me.

"You need to be a little more persuasive Tina, just as you may have to be with the rock god and his buddies."

The whole bizarre series of events was becoming messier by the moment. I realised that after he had made me cum I would have to return the favour and I thought that he would want to fuck me or at least make me give him a blowjob. I was also a bit, no very I suppose pissed about his reference to Dempsy. But there wasn't time to ask questions or debate just how 'persuasive' I might have to be to win the business for he was getting his dick out; it was only half-hard.

I looked at him enquiringly. He took my hand and placed it on his cock. I instinctively rubbed and stroked it and was pleased when it started to grow. He lay back, pushed his silk boxers down and pulled the tail of his shirt up and away from his cock.

"Now Tina, be very, very persuasive indeed. Give me one of those lovely tits to suck and a hand job to make me cum, but make sure none goes on my shirt."

After we had finished he let me clean up, after he had, in his private bathroom. As I had probably 'leaked' I took my panties off and secured them deep in my large bag. I then joined him back in his office feeling distinctly sordid.

"Ok, well that was nice Tina. See it's all about relationships and not fucking column inches or Hello photos so now go and get Dempsy and do your best to be persuasive to his fucking band and management."

The star

It seemed slightly incongruous and a contradiction in terms to alight from the crowded, smelly and hot Piccadilly Line tube train, whizz through the first class check in at Heathrow terminal 5, sip champagne in the first class lounge and be cosseted in the luxuries of the front cabin on the seven and a bit hours flight into Kennedy. But that's how it was and I loved it.

I had met with Dempsy and his base guitarist and co-leader of Bandana, Keggy Osgood, a few weeks previously when we had lunch at the Dorchester in Park Lane, London. That was also an incongruous occasion for we were drinking champagne at a hundred and twenty quid a bottle and eating a meal that cost sixty odd pounds ahead, with them dressed like tramps. Nevertheless, we had got on well I thought, well if the way that they both visually fucked my tits was any sign of getting on well that is. However, it was with some relief to me that Bernie confirmed that they had agreed for me to travel with them on the North American leg of their latest world tour.

"So Tina," Bernie said on the phone. "I have set it up, I have done my bit, it's up to you now to use your persuasiveness isn't it?"

"Yes Bernie," I whispered knowing what he meant.

"And if you are anywhere near as persuasiveness with the fucking rock icon as you have been with me, then we have nothing to worry about do we?"

"No Bernie," I replied, the realisation of what I had let myself in for hitting me, quite hard.

Dempsy fucked me on the fourth day of the tour.

The band had just played Montreal and we were flying to Dallas where there were two gigs before moving on to Houston. It was a three and a half hour flight in the private Gulfstream and we were due to land at five in the morning. He had groped me several times as the tour progressedand had sort of laid his marker down a couple of days ago when he had kissed and caressed me in his dressing room after the gig in Toronto. He had indicated quite clearly that he wanted to fuck me, but then what rock star did not want to fuck an agent with big tits like I had? But he was remarkably cool and low key about it. That didn't bother me, although I was desperate to do all I could to keep what we had and, if possible, gain more business and I half-assumed that Bernie would have told him that I would be up for it!

So, it was not that big a surprise when an hour or so into the flight from Montreal he pulled me into the rear compartment that was reserved for him and Keggy. From the touches, looks, innuendos and straightforward gropes, I knew as well as Dempsy did what was going to happen next. And it did. With me bent forward over the back of a chair with my jeans and panties round my knees, he fucked me from behind Considering the effort he had put into the show, the lateness and the fact that he was practically stoned out of his mind, he was a good fuck and I enjoyed him.