Total Woman Vignettes 03A

Prologue

Caroline gestured off stage and the first young lady strutted out and crossed the width of the stage. Her waist-borne name medallion said 'Pamela'. Pamela had shoulder length straight blonde hair with a mid-height stature and a Wonderbra-style bikini top cradling a grand pair of mammaries. Her high-heeled model stride jostled the buttressed chest meat. A returning spin at the far side and a slow pirouette at mid-stage gave the men a good overall view of her presentation: toned legs, molded ass and a tight tummy.

'Wow, what a body...' thought Syd, 'just fucking perfect for fucking'.

Pamela retired to the rear of the platform as the second contestant appeared stage right.

A brunette named Kiara strutted her stuff along the same path. Her center stage twirl exhibited her muscled ass and legs, reminding Ned of bedroom encounters with like women who had nearly crushed his embedded erection with their powerful vaginal muscles. He felt a shudder down his spine at the memory. She joined Pamela at the back of the platform.

The parade continued in sequence until all fifteen remaining coeds stepped forward in a line and stood respectfully before the three man audience. Ned led the way as Syd and Matt followed him onstage. The models faced forward, heads up, smiles bright, hands on hips, stoic for whatever inspection, visual or tactile, that they were about to receive.

The judges paced behind the line, stopping to fluff the longer hair and flicking the shorter cuts. Butts were patted and squeezed. Matt was captivated by the freely offered, and freely accepted, macho licentiousness. He wondered about the limits of behavior but kept to the measured pace of his older mentors. The men leaned in to whisper quiet questions, getting honest responses, however risqué the query. They were informed of shaved cunts, ease of orgasms, and affection for fellatio.

With a look between them and a nod, the men's hands rooted under the splayed arms of their nearest subject and cupped her bikinied boobs. The bouncing and kneading proceeded down the line, each man liberally fondling each of the fifteen women. With the superficial tits and asses analysis completed, the judges returned to their seats and filled out their scorecards. Caroline collected their expert written opinions and hustled the thoroughly inspected contestants offstage.

Ned, Syd and Matt lounged around the pool for the rest of the day. Their revelry was only slightly interrupted by the noisy speedboat heading across the channel, carrying the five eliminated young ladies elsewhere. Ned informed Syd and Matt that the quintet was being sent to a convention of Hollywood producers and financiers negotiating for upcoming screen projects. With any luck, the five young ladies might garner minor starlet roles, depending on their 'acting' abilities.

---

Present Day

Pamela's eyes teared up as she left the boat launch and was escorted by the TWA Security team across the dock to the waiting limousine. Her four companions were in similar melancholy at being among the second set of contestants eliminated from the Product Spokesmodel Competition. Even the explanation that they were being given another chance at success couldn't suppress their disappointment. No one wanted to be left out of the lucrative spokesmodel campaign. After their approaching adventure with Hollywood executives, they would return to senior year at their respective TWA campuses and complete their studies. Maybe then, any gains they garnered with the movie moguls could be actuated.

The stretch town car was big enough for more than their party of five plus two. The female security chaperons looked and acted with professional self-confidence. They were there to accompany the young coeds to the convention and prevent any harm to their charges. Some film studio bosses had a nasty reputation for abusing budding young starlets.

---

Pamela, Kiara, Brenda, Demona, and Vicki still wore their skimpy stage costumes, or remnants thereof, from their last presentation at the island. The two uniformed security women took command and distributed small tidy-up kits to use in refreshing facial makeup, fixing hair and, as to the lucky ones, post coital tissues for cleanup. With some twisting and turning in the commodious cabin, the coeds doffed their skimpy travel duds and performed their ablutions.

The coeds collegially assisted each other to perfect their individual appearances. Despite the underlying rivalry, their first duty, as ingrained by the TWA poise curriculum, was the pleasure of the elite alpha males, even those who selected one of the other coeds for his mate. The quick preening was just enough to give a positive first impression upon arrival at the film-makers' convention center. They would be professional enhanced thereafter for the formal presentations.

Arrival clothing was distributed: identical neon orange thong bikinis. They donned the fashionable two piece swimwear, again assisting each other with fit and feature. Pushed up cleavage and camel toes were the fashion mode of the day. Last, but never least, came the black strappy high heels.

The limo glided to a halt before the front entrance. The hotel's front doors whooshed open automatically just before they entered the hotel tower atrium. There were a number of men, and a few women, lounging about on the lobby furniture. Some could have been their studio hosts, or maybe not; just some wealthy vacationers spending leisure time and excess money at this swanky resort. But as potentially their first flirtatious opportunity, the bikini clad ladies showed the possible Hollywood moguls their best model bounce walk. Every man's eyes followed their progress as they were guided to the elevators.

The elevators whisked them to the fourth floor where a central gathering area was bounded by six doors. Each door held an elaborate calligraphic name plate, one for each coed plus the sixth door designated for 'Security'. The security squad distributed key cards and the girls entered their identical accommodations for the next week.

Each suite was furnished with a large luxurious bed, mirrors everywhere, a closet already stocked with outfits and a grand bathroom. A folded tent card on the bed held instructions for tomorrow's first formal events. This evening's meal would be room service, alone, and a chance to rest up and revitalize before the competition's rigors launched into full swing.

---

Pamela was blow drying her hair when the doorbell rang. Wrapped in a short bath towel, she opened the door to let the bellhop deliver her room service meal. After he had set it up, she realized she had no money for a tip. Clutching the towel, she palmed one cheek as she buzz kissed his other. He was a true gentleman that kept his hands to himself, shrugged his satisfaction and wished her a pleasant goodnight as he closed the door behind him. He rubbed his cheek in the hallway. Her warmhearted 'thank you' was more than he usually got from the resort's typical bawdy conventioneers.

Pamela checked her closet for any sleepwear and was almost surprised that there was a good selection of such. Teddies and tap-pants, men's boxer shorts, silky slips , and even flannel PJs were hung neatly on hangers. Other resort attire filled the rows: sportswear, summer dresses, swimsuits, ball gowns, corsets, nylon hose and a shoe tree filled with sandals, sneakers, heels and mules. She searched the closet and cabinets to no avail; there were no bras, panties or undergarments. Of course not, she thought; this was an offsite TWA venue and she conceded her provocative purpose and presence.

Pamela ate lightly of the meal, rolled the remains on the cart into the hallway and slept in the nude. She liked it; she felt free and natural, her last respite before assuming her sensual role and rigors on the morrow.

-----

It was the kickoff brunch time. Kiara and her sister coeds entered the dining patio where their hosts were already assembled. The instruction cards had simply directed casual wear. The girls sported an assortment of tennis dresses, shorts with stretchy tees and sleeveless summer dresses. The others, like her, had discovered the lack of provided undergarments but accepted the indication with TWA instilled decorum. The waiting gentlemen fancied their unconcern. The men had been promised the willing cooperation of their young female guests and this boded well for the week. So far; so good...

Kiara, the brown Hispanic, was dressed in a tennis outfit. The pleated bottom was short and the stretchy top fit snug. The white cotton knit molded around her shorter but athletic body. She walked slowly and carefully; it was too soon to let her stride or a breeze lift the skirt and expose a wardrobe malfunction. Let the men percolate their imaginations for a while. She was escorted to her seat by one of the security women, dressed in resort wear, sans uniform, in order to blend in with the casual atmosphere. Kiara sat carefully, letting her skirt cover her lap, barely.

Brenda, the brunette, was draped in a light green summer dress, mid-thigh and sleeveless. The small flower patterns mottled her silhouette just enough to subtly mask her fulsome body shape. But the verdant colors highlighted her bluish-green eyes. Her fine smile and effervescent cheerfulness caught the attention of every man in the room. She almost danced to her waiting seat.

Vicki, the Amazon-sized blonde, wore booty shorts and tee, generously filling the outfit. She was brash, almost brazen, as she greeted the others with flamboyant confidence. She moved from man to man, shaking hands vigorously before she was shown to her placarded place at the table.

Demona, a tall brunette, dressed in the entry bikini, its orange dayglow countering the rich bronze of her natural skin tone. The scraps of cloth were minimally legal in the semi-public venue. Her body oozed healthy vitality, toned muscles subtly rippling her limbs and tummy as she strode about the seaside patio.

Pamela had chosen to wear a maillot one piece swimsuit with a filmy beach waist wrap. Sandals seemed appropriate and she sensed her premier presentation was well received. She took her named seat, completing the feminine circle with an empty numbered seat between each of the five females.

The selected kickoff group of five midlevel studio executives dipped into a fish bowl and retrieved number chits. They found their places between the seated ladies. The food and drink was light and refreshing. The security gals coordinated the waitresses while a whiff of sea breeze cooled the shaded portico.

The banter was easy and friendly. Names were exchanged, careers embellished and egos stoked by amazed expressions and girlish fawning. It was routine for the coeds, where bolstering dominant male libidos was integral to TWA's poise curriculum. The men steered the conversations to the particulars of their young guests. What academic subjects were they studying? What were their plans after graduation? Had they done other offsite venues like this one? No? This was their first? That got some increased attention.

The questions became more tantalizing; the men leaning in for almost whispered queries. The coeds' answers were unhesitant, aware of but undeterred by silly societal prohibitions. Were the rumors true about Freewill and Father-Daughter Weekends leading up to the end of senior year? Really? Who attended? Uncles, cousins, daddies? VIP associates of the coeds' family males? Did they like satiating the incestuous older men? Of course; how else would a girl learn the best techniques and fetishes if not by absorbing the long and deep experience of elite alpha males?

The sea breeze was not keeping up with the growing temperature of the gathered men. There was a sigh of disappointment when the security women summoned their charges to their next group session. The lusty men were left to fantasize and perk their libidos alone on the ocean view patio.

-----

The studio executives were accustomed to movie sets where the players were prepared by expert makeup artists and costumers. Thus, the five naked coeds were settled into their next group session, a make-over salon fitted out with several beauty chair stations and makeup tables with bright lighted mirrors. Studio makeup professionals took turns at the stations, working their magic on the attractive coeds.

It was decided not to cut any tresses but rather work with the colors and lengths au natural. Curls, waves, buns and bunches were styled to each female's best look. However, for otherwise consistency, each girl was trimmed to a landing strip of public hair. Appropriate cosmetics were applied to eyebrows, lashes and lids. Cheeks, lips, nails, nipples, and pussies received tints and tones to magnify their attraction. It took several hours but the naked bodies finally glowed with sexual aura.

The costume organizer gazed upon his models. Although the hair and makeup had been customized to each female, his instructions required the exact same costume each of the five. He rummaged through an adjacent closet and emerged with the perfect outfits. While the costume maestro looked for matching jewelry, the models donned their matching ensembles. The translucent pink baby dolls were cup-less, fully exposing the wearers' breasts, framed between the narrow shoulder straps. The elastic garter straps held the white hose tops just inches below their mostly shaved pussies. The sequined dancer heels gave an element of lift to their bare asses. The last touches were large gold hoop earrings with a single threaded gem, almost touching their shoulders, and a matching gem ankle bracelet on the left leg. For distinction, the girls were allowed to choose their own style of same gem decoration for pierced nipples and labia.

The costume manager handed them off to the choreographer. The muscled dance instructor herded them down a hallway to a small theatre. For several hours he walked them through a short dance skit, step by step, until they had memorized and synchronized the moves.

It would be a shortened program since they only had the afternoon to practice the performance before its debut to the Hollywood executives. The show would repeat the same dozen steps in repetitious cycles.

An evening meal was brought to the theatre. The practice had been strenuous and some smearing and slipping had occurred during the rehearsals. While the erotically dressed dancers rested and munched, the cosmeticians touched up their looks. Show time was approaching; the players took their places in a line behind the closed curtain. On the other side, they heard the gabbling male audience shuffle in. The overhead speaker directed the giddy men to any unfilled seat.

"The performance will begin shortly. Please take any seat, gentlemen, one through five, it's your choice. Thank you."

The noise settled down as the men settled in, impatient for their promised nubile entertainment. With a drum roll and a cymbal crash, the curtain rose. The coeds were blinded by the bright stage lights but with the start of the music, they launched their exotic dance routine.

It began with full frontal, arms slithering straight up to high clasped hands. A full rotation in dance beat, hips and asses wiggling. Facing front again, they leveled their arms off to the sides and, with a flourish, they shimmied their tits. Though unable to see the men through the bright lights, they still heard the hoots of praise and encouragement.

"Shake 'em, baby... Wow, what a pair... Now this is a real show..."

Hands moved to hips as breasts settled. A turn to the right cued the standard Figure-8-hips belly dancer move. Hips oscillated, glittering the ankle bracelets. An about-turn gave a show of the other side.

"I wonder if she can do that with my cock up her cunt... I suppose so but I sure hope I get to find out..."

Facing away, a sudden explosion of motion simulated a hula dancer's ass gyrations.

"Now, that's what I want to feel..."

Slowing, with ankles spread wider, the girls folded forward and exposed their pussies, framed between their ass cheeks. The labia piercing gems gave a colorful offset to the rosy exposed lips.

A graceful upright and twist brought them face front. Another forward bend, faces high and smiling, and a gentler shimmy wobbled the gem pierced dangling masses. Standing again, heels together, they raised their arms high again, clasped their hands and repeated the sequence.

Their unseen audience continued its vocal encouragement, growing steadily more vulgar. After five repetitions of the routine, the stage manager finally wound down the music and lessened the stage lights as he lifted the house lights. The sweaty dance troupe stood facing the men.

It had been a cheesy routine, enlivening the mood by spoofing the coeds in silly girlish innocence. The older men delighted in the mock coy pantomimes while knowing better. These were TWA coeds, their innocence supplanted by extraordinary sexual expertise.

As previously instructed, the coeds stepped gingerly forward down the stage steps. The pairing of male and female was accomplished when the girls knelt next to their pre-assigned numbered chair, waiting for the arbitrarily fated male to take his macho prerogatives. Tits and asses were fondled freely; the emboldened men had waited long enough since their patio introductions.

Each man took his half-dressed young lady, some led by the hand and some scooped up in arm carries. The pairs walked out of the theatre to the tower elevators, waiting patiently for an available lift. They were mindless of the passersby wandering about the lobby and stopping to gawk. The TWA reserved private entrances led to secluded topless beaches for security and anonymity. Fetish clad half-naked girls accompanying well-dressed gentlemen in the public lobby areas was, to say the least, unusual.

The random pairings exited at the fourth floor and the security escorts helped each couple enter the girl's assigned quarters. The night was young and full of promise.

----

Pamela

Pamela lay on her back, legs spread, her man's cock thrusting heartily into her core. She still wore her pink baby doll, hose and heels. She was sweating even more now, coping with his hormone-fueled assault, which she had compliantly facilitated with the earlier erotic stage show.

Even before the bedroom door closed, he had tossed her on the bed, ripped off his own clothes and hastily climbed between her legs. He was overweight and grunting, bouncing the mattress as his rod plowed her pussy. He grabbed a handful of her blonde curls, wrenching her head back as he braced up and looked at her pained expression.

"Come on, honey babe. Shake your ass like you did on stage. Rub my knob inside" he huffed.

It was a type of fucking she had learned to endure from TWA Freewill Weekends. Her paternal uncle, a random roster assignment, had been of similar build and similarly lacked patience and empathy. Now, like she had learned then, she held on to the sheets as the vulgar male pleased himself, oblivious to any consideration of her pleasure during their coupling.

Reflecting her TWA training, Pamela worked her hips in cycles as he bucked on top of her. His bulk was stymieing her efforts; she tried harder. The sheets were soaked with their combined perspiration. Her baby doll was soaked; her whole being was soaked. But it was her duty to provide the utmost pleasure to her fuck-mate, regardless of his behaviors or attitudes toward her. The male had made his demands.

She redoubled her efforts and heard the encouraging response. He was breathing harder, his pace quickened and he howled as she felt his essence warm her womb. She smiled in relief as the ordeal wound down. He lay still for long time on top of her. She smoothed his hairy back with her hands, cooing obligatory sweet whispers in his ear.