Follada por dinero en el trabajo. Pink Charlotte, una y su primera vez
In the heart of Barcelona, nestled in a seedy alleyway off La Rambla, lay the unassuming door to “Jordi’s Casting Couch.” Pink Charlotte, a naive young lass with innocent doe eyes and hair the color of bubblegum, paid no mind to the building’s dilapidated exterior as she nervously smoothed her gamine mini skirt. This was her chance – her ticket to stardom, money, and a way out of the dead-end town she called home. The pale pink lipstick she struggled to apply reflected her thumping heart.
*knock knock*
The rustic wooden door swung inwards, revealing a wizened man with a cigar dangling from his thin lips. “Entrar,” he grunted, ushering her into a spartan room lit only by a single bulb and the glow of computer monitors. Scantily-clad women in various stages of undress draped themselves over threadbare couches.
Pink Charlotte gulped, feeling small and vulnerable in her too-short skirt and skyscraper heels. Jordi, as the man introduced himself, circled her like a shark, his eyes devouring every inch of exposed flesh. “Undress,” he commanded abruptly.
Blushing furiously, Charlotte complied, peeling off her clothes to reveal pert breasts topped with delicate pink nipples. Jordi signaled and a young porn starlet bounced over, her fake breasts bouncing. ” Patients,” she cooed, cupping Charlotte’s face and guiding her shuddering hand to the other girl’s nipples. “It’s okay to be nervous,—to touch.”
Charlotte’s hand trembled but she didn’t pull away. She’d never touched another woman before, let alone one with such perfect, polished beauty. Slowly, guided by the girl’s low, sultry words, she began to stroke and caress. The starlet kissed her temple, guiding her hand lower over miles of smooth skin to breasts that defied gravity. Sudden arousal spiked through Pink Charlotte and wetness dampened her core.
Lost in sensation, she barely noticed Jordi signaling another girl over. She was a shock of contradictions – raven-haired and dark-skinned, standing out against the blonde, pink, and white of the other ‘debutantes’. Part of Charlotte shrank from her, but the ache between her thighs overruled propriety. The ‘first-timer’ dripping with sweat and desire, the ‘ członkowski’ tightening her jaw, and the ‘Biting sarcasm’ drafting off of each other like electric wires.
“What’s your name?” Charlotte managed to ask, her voice lowering to a whisper. “Victoria,” came the breathless reply, fingertips dipping coyly beneath the rim of Charlotte’s panties.
Charlotte gasped as they brushed the slick, swollen flesh beneath. Two hands, exploring. Two mouths, peppering kisses. She reeled with the unfamiliar and the scandalous, losing herself in plateaus of mounting pleasure.
Jordi watched from the sidelines, his eyes alight with a cruel hunger. He knew he held strings, could yank them to make these girls rut gloved fists in each other. In a way, small mercies and wretched torments, they came to learn what they would do to survive, what delta wars they would play.
Charlotte bucked and writhed, panting between Victoria and another girl, her mouth on Charlotte’s breast. “I can’t…” she whimpered, lost. “Don’t fight it,” Victoria soothed. She circled Charlotte’s clitoris slowly, insanely. “The trigger. The key. You’ll have to trust me,” she purred… waiting, but for what?
A deal was struck in the humming room, air thick with desperation and pheromones. The unspeakable paid for Pink Charlotte’s passage into the light to geysers of false mist. Two dozen pairs of eyes followed her, memorizing the stretch of her flesh, the M_o_i, L_k, _s, R.
From that ruin rose a lily, fresh and rinsed. With her debut and subsequent casting, Pink Charlotte was ready for her close-up. She would never forget her first time.
