Lady on Top
Click on image to enlarge.
by Rex Gordon
Description: "Totally Satisfying!" When Helena Warren showed up for her interview at the B&R Modeling agency, she little realized that her suppressed thoughts of other women would blossom into a rage of passion, ambition, and glamour that would go well beyond anything she ever imagined. "No sooner is Helena Warren discovered," writes reviewer Joan Bannerman, "than does model kingpin Tyler Raines try to destroy her. Helena struggles through it all and with a little help from her friends, she learns who she is and who she wants to become--a woman on top. Helena's experiments with her sexuality are handled well and tastefully. Here, we see a young woman learning to balance her needs and desires as she learns about life and how to handle success. There are a lot of good characters here as well as some volatile situations where Helena can win or lose with the stroke of a pen, a well-placed phone call, or through the acts of a devious though interesting secretary. Totally satisfying." "Yummy!" says Fantasy KM.
eBook Publisher: Renaissance E Books/Sizzler, 2002
eBookwise Release Date: September 2004
6 Reader Ratings:
Available eBook Formats: OEBFF Format (IMP) [136 KB]
Reading time: 86-121 min.
Helena opened her eyes in the darkness of her own, hot apartment, wondering where the sun and Adie had gone.
She was confused for a long moment, then frightened. She wanted it, but had it happened, she wondered. Oh, God. No. No. It felt so good, but I'm not one of those women am I? I'm normal, I'm ordinary. What was it? It was just a dream. There was no truth to it. That's all it was, a dream.
Oh, God, she thought, sitting suddenly upright and knowing that the creaking sound had been the sound of her bed, which in the dream had been a beach. It was only a dream. Thank God, it was only a dream, she thought as she hurried into the bathroom and turned on the tepid water of the shower.
It was nearly eight o'clock, and she had to go all the way across town to interview with Adie Barker at one of the most important fashion agencies in the world. If she didn't hurry, she was going to be late.
"You are really something, dear," Adie Barker said. She stood back with a measuring tape draped over her arm and studied the form of Helena Warren. She had seen people on the street before whom she thought would make excellent models, but Helena very special.
"Thank you, Ms Barker," Helena said.
"Turn around, please," Adie instructed.
Helena did the little turn on the platform as she was told, and Adie studied her from the rear. She had a nice behind and nice shoulders, and her long blonde hair flowed sensuously down her back.
She was thinking the word "form" when she studied Helena, but her imagination ran wild as she touched her luscious flesh, and her mouth began to water. Helena was a virginal beauty, even while her underwear hugged her hips and cut into her crotch.
She was tall and a bit too angular to be a perfect fashion model, but Adie had enough to work with, especially with those high cheekbones and pouting lips. She already had a new and exciting look, and with the right makeup, she could be magnificent. Certainly she would make a fine addition to the B&R Agency.
"Would you undo your bra, sweetie?"
"I want to see what your breasts look like in their natural state."
"Is that necess?"
"Of course it's necessary. Don't be silly."
After a pause, Helena reached for the hooks in the front of her bra and released them, letting the straps slide down over her shoulders and letting the bra itself slide down her back.
Slowly and reluctantly, Helena turned toward Adie. Her cheeks were hot and her eyes actually began to water. For just a moment, her hands moved to cover her breasts, but she relented and, with her elbows still bent, she clutched her fists at her sides.
"No implants," Adie said, as if amazed.
"I can't afford them."
Adie chuckled. "Oh, my dear, you don't need them at all."
"Not even a little bit."
"Th--uh--thank you," Helena said, and she let her arms hang straight at her sides, clutching her bra with her right hand. Her breasts were natural with a minor droop and a slight upturn at her nipples. She was a bit thicker through the waist than Adie would have liked, but there was more than one kind of modeling.
"Lovely," Adie said.
"They're all right?" Helena asked. With the way Adie had been looking at her, her face felt two shades short of crimson.
"Excellent," Adie said. "Yes, fine. Mr. Raines will be quite pleased."
"Will I--uh--will I get the job?"
"I'm sure you will. But we'll need some 'official' measurements."
Adie undraped the measuring tape and stepped forward. First, she measured Helena's chest under her breasts. Then she measured her breasts themselves at the nipples, which had become hard, and the aureoles were almost as red as her face must have been.
"36-C," Adie said.
Her breasts are a bit too large for her to be the perfect model, but Helena has so much more going for her, Adie thought as she went on to measure Helena's waist and her hips.
With each measurement, she made a note on the model's profile attached to the lavender clipboard on her desk.
When she did the inseam, her knuckle nestled with apparent innocence at Helena's crotch. When Adie felt the cotton material slide though wetness, her own crotch moistened with hope and anticipation, but it was not anything she would do with Helena today. Any aggressive action along those lines would have to wait for a more reasonable occasion, but Adie had learned how to wait, and she knew what to do in the meantime.
"You can get dressed now," she said.
"Thank you," Helena replied. "When will you let me know something?"
Adie looked at the profile sheet. "I have your address and phone number here. You'll hear from us in the next few days, I promise."
"Are you the one who makes the decision?"
"Along with Mr. Raines. But we're partners, so that should be pretty easy."
"Yes. I know who Mr. Raines is," she said, and she took a deep breath as she carried her clothes behind the screen.
"Ms Barker--uh," Helena stammered. "Uh--I'm really embarrassed, but my phone has been disconnected."
"Could you, like, send me a letter or something?"
Adie glanced at the profile with the address on far West 55th Street. She looked at Helena's clothes, rich and stylish a few years ago, but much washed and certainly out of date. Because of where Helena worked, Adie had taken it to mean that Helena bought her clothes from fashionable thrift shops. But until this moment, she had no idea that Helena was destitute.
"We do have to do some test photos, but that won't be until tomorrow. I can let you know then. Be here tomorrow at nine."
"Yes, ma'am," the beautiful young woman said. She hesitated, as if she were going to say something else, then hurried from the fitting room.
Wow, did that Adie Barker stare! Helena thought, as she hurried past the High School of Art and Design, where she had once been a student.
Because she was ten minutes late, she was frightened from the moment she stepped into the brownstone offices of B&R Modeling. Yet, she had to wait for fifteen minutes before Ms Barker had time to see her. She had even been afraid to look at the magazines in the waiting area because just turning the pages might reveal the trembling of her fingers.
As she hurried across town, she wondered why her nipples had gotten so hard. After all, it was a woman looking at her, not a man. It was not as if--oh, God, it was, wasn't it? She had to stop thinking about it. It was just a dream. Things happened in dreams that meant nothing.
Adie, like herself, was just an ordinary human being. But how was Helena going to keep so many strange thoughts from running through her mind?
She didn't want the attractive little woman to be constantly staring at her body, no matter how subtly. Her dream of Adie had been exciting, yes, and she had been embarrassed by it, but she found herself wondering what it would be like if the whole thing had been real.
Why would any woman, especially herself, be interested in another. Other women had all the same parts, even if they were in different proportions. In school, she had showered with other girls many times without the slightest erotic thought about them. And when other girls stared at Helena, it meant nothing--certainly it meant nothing to Helena. So why was she so suddenly afraid of Adie Barker?
Was it because of the dream and because of what she thought it might mean? Or was she afraid because of how her boyfriend Michael had warned her about lesbians and homosexuals in the glamour business. But what did he know? He worked for an insurance company.
"She might want you to do things you've never dreamed of doing," Michael said as they sat in his efficiency apartment between Fifth and Sixth Avenues in Midtown.
"What do you mean?"
"Now, Helena, you know damn well what I mean. A lesbian is nothing but a man without a cock, and that can be darn dangerous."
Helena suppressed a smile at the way he juxtaposed the words "cock" and "darn" as if he were speaking to two different people at once.
"Jealous?" she said.
"A little bit. Jealous that you might learn the triplicates of love before I do."
"'Triplicates of love?' Just what does that mean?" she said. She knew exactly what he meant. She just wanted to hear him explain it.
He didn't blush exactly, but he wouldn't look at her when he talked. Instead, he looked at the surface of the porcelain table or across the room at his posters of Oliver and Chorus Line and Rent.
"Well, I have it on good authority that lesbians are always having orgies."
"Is that so? Where did you learn that?"
"I just keep my eyes and ears open. The first thing that's going to happen is she's going to ask you out to dinner."
"Just like a guy."
"That's it, just like a guy. Next thing, she'll ask you back to her apartment. And her being a vice president and all, she'll probably have something nice and plush in Trump Towers or something like that."
"Go on," Helena said.
"She'll offer you some fantastic vintage wine you never heard of and then?" Michael told her detail after detail as a warning, but Helena found herself getting excited by the thought of drinking vintage wine inside a million dollar apartment.
The crotch of her panties was beginning to soak through to her jeans, and she found herself watching Michael's fingers and remembering how crude and inept they were when they attacked her pussy. She watched his lips and thought about his tongue, pushing in and out and around far too roughly.
Yet, even as she thought about his weakness as a lover, she thought about his cock, thick and firm and plunging inside her. She thought about how he always wanted to be on top.
With half of her pot roast still in the crock, she pushed it aside. She watched his fingers, his lips, his tongue. She thought about his cock.
"What?" Michael said, looking up at her.
She rose from the table, her nipples jutting hard against the T-shirt, and now she looked down at him.
"Are you all right?" he said.
"I'm just fine," she answered, and she walked around the table.
"You look crazy."
"I am crazy," she said.
She put her left hand behind his head, her right under his chin and brought her mouth to his, invading swiftly with her tongue.
"You're scaring me," he said, and he turned sideways in the chrome and plastic chair.
"All the better," she said. She released his face, and still totally dressed, spread her legs and straddled him. Her breasts were at the level of his mouth, but still he stared up at her in fear.
She had never done anything like this before and she liked it.
"What the hell are you doing?" he said. He grabbed her by the arms and stood suddenly.
"Fucking is what I'm doing," she said, looking up into his eyes.
"Well stop it, you're scaring me."
"It's what I meant to do."
His eyes explored her face. He stepped back and looked down the front of her body. He saw the taut nipples jabbing through the T-shirt, saw the soaking wetness at the crotch of her jeans.
"Damn!" he said, and he scooped her from the floor, crossed the room and dumped her on the hard futon couch that was also his bed.
As he groped at his belt buckle, she peeled her T-shirt over her head and tossed it aside. She undid the button of her jeans. He unzipped them and yanked them down with her panties in a single motion.
She kicked off her shoes, and now, with one hand, she grabbed his hard, extended cock. She brought her lips to the head. She licked away the preliminary wetness. Then she stood and pushed him down to the bed.
This time she wanted to fuck him from the top. This time she wanted to be in charge. She wanted to take control, wanted to be the one to decide when he came, and that time would be only after she was satisfied.
"No!" he said, and he turned her quickly on her back and gripped her arms over her head.
She fought at him, but he was too strong for her. His cock was too hard to be denied. He pushed against the wetness. He slid away the first time and the second time. But the third time, he pushed through the swollen lips, jamming past that spot and deep inside her.
"Yes," she said as he plunged in and out while he grunted his animal pleasure.
"Yes," she said again, hissing her own pleasure at him. "Fuck me. Yes, fuck me. Fuck me hard."
He said no words. He just grunted again and again and again. He gripped her wrist and his face contorted in anger and pleasure and pain.
Then, in the ultimate of pain and pleasure, he cried out. "Oh, yes. Damn, yes. You little bitch. Yes."
Oh, yes, yes, I am a bitch. Yes, yes, she thought, and now she was coming, her legs were quivering, her spasms bubbling.
"Oh, yes, Michael," she whispered. "Oh, yes." She brought her mouth fully to his and held the kiss for a long, long time. And she wondered how it would be if he knew how to really pleasure her, wondered how the whole thing would be if she were allowed to control it.