Palmer: Fashion Week Ch. 08

"All will be tested. All will be judged. And unfortunately, all but one will be asked to leave."

The blonde spoke from the top of an imposing black-draped catwalk, with the twelve young models seated below it. They all stared up at her with a mix of fear and excitement. Roxanne knew the feeling well, remembering the first days when she first broke into the business. She just hoped their road to success would be different than her own.

When Alicia smiled sympathetically at them, the serious atmosphere instantly dissipated. This was the Alicia Stiles the world had come to love. This was her winning personality.

"Girls, I wish I could change the rules. In my eyes, simply by getting here, you've proven to me that you have what it takes to make it."

Roxanne glanced at the teleprompters and grinned to herself. The blonde was saying almost exactly the opposite of what the script-writers had come up with.

"So, in order to be crowned the next supermodel, as well as receive a year-long contract with a leading agency and the cover of Vogue, you'll have to follow the rules."

Her mock-serious tone drew a giggle from the girls.

Behind Roxanne, the stagehands began to shuffle about. Someone whispered to her, "You're on in five ... four ... three..."

He finished his count with his fingers as Alicia introduced her.

"Our guest judge today is one of Britain's most accomplished models. She's appeared on the covers of Vogue, Vanity Fair, Marie Claire, and Elle, to name a few! She's walked runways from Paris to, well, here in Dubai, and has been in demand from the moment she exploded into fashion three years ago. She's emerged from retirement to flagship the Fashion Week ... and let me tell you, when I heard she was back, I actually jumped with joy."

Roxanne stepped around the back of the runway smiling. She couldn't help it. Alicia's enthusiasm was infectious.

"Girls, if you have any doubts as to what a celebrity looks like, then look no further than Roxanne Lopez!"

The young hopeful supermodels were suddenly alive with shock. They gave each other wide-eyed, broad smiles as a collective realization washed over them. They were really here, on Supermodel. It wasn't a dream after all.

Roxanne sashayed along the runway, her graceful steps halfway between a catwalk strut and a casual stroll. She smiled at the girls as they looked up at her with unquestioning admiration. At her!

She read from the scrolling teleprompter naturally. She'd memorized it already and only needed to reference it a couple times. She didn't deviate like Alicia had. She wasn't sure she could ever be as comfortable as that.

"Ladies, in the modelling world, you need to believe in yourself before you can convince anyone else to believe. It takes a special kind of confidence to make it, and believe me, there are plenty of times you'll feel like you can't make it. Today, we're going to put you to the test..."

She paused as the wannabee supermodels hung on every word.

"We want to watch each of you walk the runway. We want to see you put your soul into your stride. If we can't feel your confidence pouring off of you, then you're not going to convince a designer that you're good enough, either."

She looked down at her captivated audience, and then across at Alicia. It had all gone seamlessly. Wasn't that amazing?

"So, for your first challenge," Alicia picked right up, "we're going to watch the way you move on this stage. But we want you to do it in just the things you're wearing beneath your clothes..."

The twist drew its intended gasps—and would most likely draw its intended ratings once this episode aired.

"So everyone, back stage and off with the clothing. Oh, and if you're not wearing anything beneath ... well, I hope you're not camera shy."

*

"It's beautiful here, isn't it?" Michelle murmured, her fingers gently caressing the tapered hollow in the small of Jenn's shapely back.

"Mmm," Jenn responded, momentarily lost in the heady sensations as Michelle dripped oil across her hot skin.

The marijuana somehow enhanced the delightful feeling of the cool liquid splashing on her skin. When she felt the Asian model's fingers caress the oil into her flesh, she released a purr of contentment.

Michelle grinned, but shook her head when Jenn tried to hand back the half smoked joint.

"Why don't you finish it," she told her, and then added, "While I tell you all about life as one of Nikky Volkov's models."

It was time to whet the brunette's appetite. Give her the information she craved. Until she handed over any documents, it was just hearsay.

"Okay," Jenn said, a little uneasily.

The drug was bringing a haziness inside her but so what? She was close to a breakthrough. Michelle was about to give her the inside track.

She took another drag as the Korean American casually unhooked her halter top and let it fall away. Her large tits fell free. So what? They were alone and it seemed a perfectly normal thing to do. She pushed her dark hair across her right shoulder, holding onto it as if for comfort.

"Relax while I draw you a picture," Michelle softly told her, digging her fingers into the flawless flesh.

She caressed them along the brunette's spine and then working down her back. More oil. More caressing. When her fingers eventually found their way to the turquoise blue scrap of material that barely covered that tight ass, she eased them under the material.

"Nikky has a unique way of operating," she said, keeping Jenn's mind off what she was actually doing. "Tell me, have you ever sucked cock just to get a job?"

"Never," the brunette replied. Though she knew girls who had...

"You will if Nikky offers you a contract," Michelle continued. "It's his way of getting your complete commitment. Nothing less will do."

Jenn's body began to tense. The thought of sucking Nikky Volkov's cock was both alarming and, yes, appealing. After all, she'd actually done that to Habib, hadn't she? She took another long drag at the joint, feeling the buzz spread further through her body and mind. The weed was relaxing her. There was no doubt about that.

"Giving a blow job to someone who's so rich and powerful is quite a turn on," Michelle softly said, dropping her head to breathe into the brunette's ear. "It gets the juices flowing, believe me."

She took the joint from Jenn and took a final drag of her own, letting the smoke curl out from her red lips and through her nostrils.

"Then he makes you a star," she murmured, flicking the stub away. "Makes you grateful to him."

Her hands returned to the young cop's ass, but instead of resuming her caress she suddenly tugged the skimpy thong halfway down her thighs.

"What...?" Jenn said, but Michelle was too quick for her.

"Shhh..." she cooed, knocking Jenn's protesting hands away as she finished pulling the garment off.

Fuck, look at that wonderful ass! The brunette's light tan was complete but for a small outline of paler skin in the shape of a tiny thong.

"You get a couple of modelling jobs that promote you to the big time," she continued, not giving the girl time to think.

She could feel herself practically salivating as she dribbled more oil onto those rounded cheeks.

"And when you're caught up in the new found fame and adulation, he tells you he needs something from you."

"What?" Jenn asked, her head floating.

She was practically creaming herself at the way Michelle's fingers were kneading her asscheeks.

"He gets you to fuck one of his clients, of course," the model softly told her, leaning down to whisper in her ear. "It's only sex after all. And you're so grateful to Nikky Volkov for giving you your big break..."

For a few minutes, she continued to knead those firm buttocks, waiting for an objection. There was none.

"He rewards you well," she went on, allowing her fingers to stray between those shapely legs. "And then you're fucking another client, and another. It becomes as effortless as breathing. Walking the finest catwalks the fashion world has to offer, enjoying a fabulous lifestyle, and fucking whoever Nikky tells you to at the same time."

Jenn felt the lick of heat start between her thighs and then circle her body. It took a few moments for her brain to comprehend what was happening and another couple to confirm she welcomed it. Those fingers between her thighs were becoming difficult to resist.

"You love it, of course," Michelle added, keeping her voice matter of fact. "Sex, drugs and more sex makes the world go round, after all. It doesn't really matter whether it's your boyfriend you're fucking or one of Nikky's clients. In fact, sex with a client is often more rewarding..."

She reached down and brushed a lock of hair from the brunette's eyes with her fingertips, before drawing tiny circles along her soft jawbone. It was a thrill to seduce a cop, especially one as stunning as this.

"Look at me," she suddenly said. It was time.

She sat up enough as she half-turned her head that her full breasts lifted from the lounger. She bit her lip as she stared upwards into those big, almond shaped eyes. Her chest was heaving. Her pussy was on fire. There was no denying the warmth that was growing between her legs as Michelle stroked her fingertips across her sex.

"Roll onto your back," the Asian model ordered, helping her turn around.

This woman was hers now. She was even parting her thighs and hoisting her ass up off the lounger to give her better access. The hidden cameras were about to get what they wanted.

Normally, she liked her sex hard and rough, but that would come later. She had to take things easy to begin with.

The brunette's sex was a thing of beauty. Her swollen lips were small and tight, blossoming open around her pearl just enough to hint at the slicker pink inside. She moaned out loud, out of control as Michelle slid a finger, then a second, inside her.

"Uh," Jenn cried, widening her legs to allow more room.

When she began to hump back against the working hand, the Asian model stretched her thumb to rest in the tight cleft between Jenn's cheeks. The cop let out a soft wail as she rimmed her anus and her legs clamped together to better fuck those probing fingers.

"That's it," Michelle encouraged, dipping her head to suck one of Jenn's nipples into her mouth. "Cum for me..."

Her words and actions combined to act as a detonator. It was like setting off an explosion and the brunette's wet folds shuddered around the fingers until the orgasmic tremors began to ease.

When Jenn's eyes start to flicker open, Michelle held up her glistening hand infront of her face. Slowly and deliberately, she let the brunette watch as she sucked the juices from each of her fingers. The eroticism of her actions made Jenn whimper...

She worked them back inside the cop again, and the second orgasm was instantaneous. She was hers now.

*

Palmer took the taxi cab across town, holding the ghosted mobile in front of him. It was as if it was some kind of bomb, rigged to explode the moment he took his eyes off it. The conversation he'd caught replayed itself in his mind as he neared his destination.

"The Sheikh has told you what's required of you?" Nikky Volkov's sharp voice had asked. "Meet me in a bar called the HeatWave. I'll be there in half an hour. Don't be late."

Palmer cringed in his seat at just hearing the Russian's voice. Volkov reminded him of the late Dominic DeVere. Both men were egocentric and played people for fun. He'd spent a career fighting men like that.

The taxi took twenty minutes to deliver him to the club and he entered through the rear when he realized just how small the place was. The set of French-paned double doors with glass so dingy you could barely see through it and if he walked in that way, every patron in the place would see him.

Instead, he hustled down the alley and entered through the kitchen. It was occupied by a single cook frying pub food. Palmer waved to the man like he belonged there and slipped through the swinging kitchen doors into the worn down bar.

It took him a moment to locate Volkov. He was sitting in a booth in the far corner, on the opposite side of the table from a swarthy Arab. Both of them looked completely out of place in a rundown establishment like this. That meant the meeting was a furtive one.

Palmer settled into his own private booth on the other side of the room. It was impossible to get closer. He was desperate to hear what was being said but had to content himself with observing their body language.

Volkov was talking quickly, and there wasn't any doubt he was agitated. Occasionally he glanced around him, but Palmer was hidden well enough in the corner of his booth. He wouldn't be detected unless either man specifically made their way in his direction.

There was no reason for that to happen.

When Volkov reached into the satchel that hung off the back of his chair, Palmer sat forward. The Russian withdrew a buff coloured folder and handed it to the Arab across from him.

From the look of things, there were photographs in the folder as well as some sort of documentation, but it was impossible to be specific this far away. Whatever was going on, there was a degree of urgency to the way Volkov talked and his agitation hadn't lessened.

The Arab appeared to skim through the document, his sharp eyes zipping across every photograph and piece of information in there. Volkov was nodding and explaining things while his companion listened closely. When he finally looked up from the folder, sitting back in his chair, he nodded solemnly and then got to his feet. Meeting over.

Palmer watched the man leave, followed by Volkov a few minutes later. They didn't want to be seen together. He gave the Russian a few minutes to make sure he'd left the vicinity before rising to his feet and quietly slipping out the way he came in.

He had a lot of thinking to do.

*

The first girl down the runway immediately set the bar high. If Alicia Stiles was the quintessential girl-next-door, then this model was her quintessential sister. Young and lithesome, she wore a white cotton bra and panty set with little red polka dots and white lace fringe. Her long, straight hair was dark blonde and pinned away from her face demurely.

And if she was embarrassed at all to be walking in nothing but her underwear, she certainly didn't show it. She took the catwalk with attitude, owning it with the swing of her slender hips.

"This girl's got a lot of natural talent," Jenn whispered to Alicia as they watched.

"She's definitely hot," the American supermodel agreed.

The girl had paused at the end of the runway, hand on hip. Her girly thong plunged between her taut buttocks, a little heart shaped keyhole back where the straps came together.

The next couple of young women were nothing special, apart from their lacy bras and thongs, but the Asian girl who emerged next was not unlike Michelle Park. Her slim figure was encased in a pair of turquoise boyshorts and a matching bra.

She was a little more playful than the others, a little more bouncy. It brought a smile to Roxie's face—and to a couple of the judges, based on a quick glance. The girl spun at the end of the stage, tucking her thumbs into the g-string and giving it a teasing tug that brought a laugh from everyone there. Her walk back down the runway was a little more confident, her cute ass wiggling a little bit more.

"Sexy," Alicia chuckled.

The rest of the girls went through the same process, but couldn't top that performance. When they all reconvened, wearing short robes to protect their modesty, Alicia applauded them all from her position at the side. But Roxie wasn't with her. They had a surprise planned.

"You have little to no choice when you take a runway job," the blonde supermodel told them, "and believe it or not, sometimes, your outfits may be even more outlandish—and embarrassing—than what you got to 'wear' today."

She paused for effect, glancing at the camera and then back at the young contestants again.

"But to show solidarity," she solely continued, building up the tension, "Ms. Lopez will show you how to really walk a stage... in her lingerie..."

There was a gasp of surprise among the girls as the lights dimmed. Along with the gasps came claps and cheers. Then the techno music that had played as the girls had performed kicked in again.

Roxie struck a silhouetted pose behind the screen and when she took to the stage like a prize thoroughbred, the girl's cheers grew louder. Her voluptuous body was encased in nothing but a pair of hip-hugging lacy boyshorts and a matching black plunge bra that gave her already full breasts even more lift. Dressed in nothing else but a smile and her tall heels, Roxanne Lopez owned the stage.

She stopped at the edge of the runway, gave a cute little wave to the girls, and struck a pose that was greeted with hooping and hollering. Her exit was every bit as good as her entrance. The boyshorts couldn't quite contain her perfect ass, the bottoms of her round asscheeks moving from side to side in a tantalizing tease.

Alicia, who had been struck speechless herself, retook the stage.

"That's how it's done, girls! Thank you, Roxanne!"

*

"You're so fucking hot," Michelle whispered.

Jenn stared up at her, her cloudy brain moving slowly and her deep brown eyes still glazed with lust. She watched breathlessly as the Asian model shimmied out of her tiny black bikini thong. They were both naked now. Slowly standing up, Michelle ran her hands over her perky breasts, down across her flat stomach before resting between her legs.

"You want me, too, don't you, honey?"

Their eyes met and Jenn drew a trembling breath. She was in over her head, drowning in a sea of sexual need. She forced herself to breath and tried to go to the rational part of her brain that was becoming harder and harder to reach. She was a cop, but right now everything was outweighed by her need to experience this sexy Asian woman.

When Michelle swung a leg across her body, it felt as if her heart was going to pound out of her chest. The Asian woman's bare labial lips were glossy and pink with arousal. She lewdly opened her engorged folds with the fingers of one hand as Jenn watched. The other hand reached for the brunette's hair, pulling her head upwards.

When she felt Jenn's tongue willingly slip out, her knees threatened to buckle. The first, hesitant touch made her growl.

She knew that the cop was following her instinct but that only made the experience better. Her technique left a little to be desired, but she could work on that later. For now, Jenn's enthusiasm was enough. Her hard tongue was lapping across her wet sex now.

"Higher," she croaked, tugging her head a fraction upwards.

Jenn quickly understood, her mouth seeking out the slippery clitoris.

As she took it between her lips, she looked up at Michelle with a surge of arousal in her eyes. They were asking if she was doing this right. The Asian model narrowed her gaze and nodded. This was such a fucking turn on. It was different to her raw experience with Bree Jensen but, in its own way, so much better.

Her fingers tightened in the cop's hair as she began to thrust back in rhythm with the flicking tongue. Jenn's hands went to her ass, trying to steady her, but Michelle was into it now, roughly grinding her sex against that beautiful face. It was covered with her juices.

Had Michelle ever seen a more beautiful sight?

She humped harder, her fingers tightening in Jenn's silken hair as she used the brunette. Oh fuck! Her body stiffened as the climax formed. Her moan caught in her throat. Electricity surged through her. One shock after another lighting up her body. This was way hotter than any client she'd ever been with. This was a fucking cop. The London Met's finest. And her eager willingness was mind-blowing.