Models and Super Spies Ch. 09

Chapter 9: LA's Most Eligible Bachelor

Alicia had hoped that a shower would help, but it didn't. She still felt it there. A softness around the edges of her reality. It was a medicated feeling that had been there long before her first taste of the oxies.

Although those certainly added to the feeling. She hadn't intended to take any of the miraculous little blue pain pills. Not at first. But then she got her coffee and started thinking about Trey and the mess she'd made of her life. And how she'd woken up spooning the nude body of another woman. And how the soft skin against her turned her on.

Erin had fucked her again in the kitchen as the coffee brewed – eating her snatch as she perched her model-perfect ass on the corner of the black granite countertop. The older woman whispered things to her. Things that were going to happen tonight. Things about Tony, the Latin hunk from the club. As she came, her mind filled with Tony's face, Tony's body, and how good it could feel if she just let go and let him fuck her.

When Erin left and she poured herself her coffee, the whole thing overwhelmed her. Time seemed to have unhinged itself from the foundation of her life. She saw her bottle of comforting blue pills and told herself that it wouldn't always be this way; just this one time; just to get her through today. After today, she'd deal with it.

Yet in the shower, forbidden thoughts rose like the hazy tendrils of steam from the shower head. Bad thoughts that felt good. Thoughts of sucking cocks and eating pussies. Thoughts of that initial rush off a hit of cocaine. Thoughts of success and being seen as a supermodel.

She fucked herself, secretly praising herself on how good she was with her fingers. And how hot she was and could be. How many men wanted her? How many women? How many guys would one day jerk themselves off to her face? Her body?

The good girl in Alicia wasn't permitted to think those thoughts. She wouldn't allow it. But things were softer now. The rules had been relaxed. In this new world, she could finally take her deserved place at its center.

And then she got out of the shower, saw her nearly drained mug of coffee cooling on the countertop, and started crying. Crying for her life with Trey that she'd thrown away. Crying for the girl she once was. Crying for her own lost innocence.

"I can't go through with it," she said between sobs on the phone. She couldn't sleep with Tony, no matter how hot he was, or how much it would make her a star, or for whatever exciting job the CIA had lined up for her. So crazy. It was all crazy! Were all those thoughts jumbled together like that?

"What? Tell me, Alicia… what can't you go through with?" It was Vincent Silva's confused voice on the other end of the phone. Why had she called him?

Because there was no one else she could trust now.

Half crying, mostly hysterical, she explained to him Erin's plan for her to go to the auction, to be seen in public with Tony. To… to take him back to her room and…

She couldn't even say it! Yet she could think it. And it made her feel hot and terrible and guilty and wet all at once.

"Shh, shh… I have a plan," Vincent soothed on the other end of the line. So far away, yet he sounded so close. Vincent was a good man. Why had she ever left him? Alicia was so confused she didn't even see the irony in that thought. "There may be a way for you to go through with it, but not have to… you know… compromise yourself. No one, not even Tony'll know."

"How?"

"I'll leave you instructions. Go to Locker Room B at Union Station at noon. I'll leave something in locker 1105. The key'll be under the bench in front of it."

"Thank you, Vince."

"You're doing a good job, Alicia. Stay strong." Click. Her crying didn't stop.

***

The clouds were white pillows that belonged more to a neo-Romantic era painting than in this day of Liz Hawkins' life. Your name is Elizabeth Dean, she reminded herself as she adjusted her stylish, floppy hat.

Wind whipped the dark mane of long hair that was now hers. She held the hat, watching the island spa recede behind her in a foamy wake that cut across the crystal blue water. The speedboat came compliments of the resort, along with the limo ride back to her hotel. If that didn't make her feel like a celebrity, nothing would, right?

She'd had extensions added and her hair rinsed and dyed. She was officially a brunette, and the Brazilian bikini wax had taken care of any possible evidence she might betray on that account.

Her three-hour massage session had relaxed her and (almost) helped her forget what was to come in the evening, and once her nails and face were done, she'd never felt more pampered. Alexander Mishin had promised her a day of relaxation and the man, despite all his faults, had delivered.

He'd let her sleep in; he'd had a helicopter drop her off at the off-shore spa and wished her good luck with a wet kiss goodbye. If the man wasn't their prime tango and a known playboy, she could see herself falling for his European good looks. But that was neither here nor there.

Right now, she needed to pick an outfit for the night's gala. As she climbed into the limo and let the driver know where to go, she hardly recognized her voice. It was haughtier than she had a right to be, a voice that admired itself.

Maybe she could be Elizabeth Dean, after all.

***

Caroline adjusted the bowtie of Trey's tuxedo, stepping back to admire the handsome young agent. They'd worked hard to make sure his wig of sun-bleached hair was secure, but it was the best they could do. It was too late in the game to grow it out or change his look. Besides, it seemed to have worked with Erin Small.

The brunette support expert grew warm thinking about what she'd watched on camera. She'd thought the slightly naïve, redheaded family man was cute in that Mrs. Robinson-meets-Ben Braddock kind of way, but after his performance two night back, she'd begun fantasizing about what it would be like to have his cock in her mouth.

It didn't help that she hadn't been taken care of since she'd started this assignment, other than a few phone sex conversations with her husband. Maybe a quickie with Trey wasn't so inappropriate after all?

"You there? Caroline?" the man asked, and she suddenly realized he was talking to her.

"I'm sorry. What was that?" She cursed to herself. She rarely let her libido get the better of her.

"Have you heard from Liz yet?"

And there was that tone again. Concern. Gentlemanly affection, perhaps? Whatever it was, she'd heard it in his voice when he spoke of his wife and his partner, and she grew jealous each time she heard it. Her own husband was a wonderful man and supported her very open lifestyle, but she was also beginning to think that monogamy wasn't just some sham.

Whatever. He'd already fucked one woman silly, would have fucked her silly, and was about to get it on with two gorgeous young girls. Whatever fairy tale Trey had stepped out of was about to come crashing down.

"Yeah, she phoned in this morning. She'll be meeting us by the bar at 1800 hours."

"And… she sounded OK?"

"She didn't use any code words, if that's what you mean. She's fine. I told you, she's a tough girl. Whatever she was up to was for the better."

He nodded. "You've briefed her on tonight?"

Caroline nodded. This was a good sign. He'd been uncertain about proceeding at all. He'd questioned the legitimacy of the mission. It was good that his mind was there, and he was making sure all the details were accounted for. "I did. She's to make a show of bidding you up, but let Sarah Ellis 'win' you."

"And… she's OK with all of this? What's to… happen?" As uncertain as he sounded, there was nothing uncertain about the swell in his pants.

"She's anxious, but knows what needs to be done." Caroline stepped close to him, making sure that her full breasts brushed along his tuxedo shirt. She couldn't help it, but what was a little harmless flirting, right? It got the blood flowing, and there was nothing wrong with that. "Trey, you know she'd never done anything like this before, but you have. It'll be the first time you have an edge. I'd have fun with it."

Their lips were inches apart. She could feel his heavy breathing wash across her face. He was as stiff as a board. "Want to practice being Trenton Dean on me?" she asked huskily, running her fingers across the seat of his pants. His hard-on twitched at her touch.

He opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out. He was as white as a sheet.

Caroline laughed, stepping away and tossing her curly dark hair about her shoulders. "Trenton wouldn't have hesitated. Make sure you don't tonight."

***

Alexander Mishin loved everything about a sexy woman. He loved the way they looked in and out of clothes. He loved the way their skin could feel so smooth it was like running your fingers across silk. He loved kissing them, holding them, caressing them… but most of all, he loved fucking them.

He'd never been a discriminating man. Never been one to even consider settling down with one girl. So why did he keep going back to his night with Liz Hawkins?

Forcing his mind off the redhead's tight little body, he looked at Ilena, his "housekeeper," as she got dressed for the evening. "You're very tempting, my baby doll," he said in Russian. She blushed and tucked a loose strand of her light brown hair behind her ear.

Alexander said a lot of things to women to elicit that reaction: the shy blush, the willingness to be seduced. But in Ilena's case, it wasn't a line. Watching her roll the nude-colored stockings along her shapely legs brought a stiffness to his cock that should have been dormant after last night with the insatiable Liz.

At his instruction, Ilena had dressed herself in classic lingerie. He didn't need to touch it to know the brown lace was soft and expensive. He just admired how it stretched across her hour-glass curves and complimented her light tan. She clipped the stockings into her garter belt, turning her taut buttocks to him as she set her foot upon a chair. The matching thong scooped between her legs, sheer enough that he could make out the padded contours of her vulva.

He traced the graceful lines of her back. She hadn't yet fastened the gossamer bra, letting her large breasts hang free beneath her like ripe fruit ready for picking. Ilena was smiling over her shoulder as she watched his reaction.

"Would you like me to take care of that before I put on my dress?" she asked sweetly in Russian, staring at his crotch. When she straightened, her large nipples were hard. She was excited.

She had full lips, perfect for dick-sucking. Not to mention how well she could use her tits to get him off. But time was short and there were still things that need to be done. Important things.

"I'm sorry, Ilena darling. I need to take a rain check."

Most of the women Alexander surrounded himself with would have thrown a tantrum. A haughty blaze of disapproval. Not Ilena. She just nodded in subservient understanding, fixed her lacy bra beneath those pendulous breasts, and went about preparing herself for the gala.

Turning away from her, he flipped open his phone and called the lying bitch of his prima model, Gabrielle Dubois.

"Allô?" the sonorous voice of Supermodel answered.

"Gabrielle, so nice to hear your voice. It's been too long."

"Alexander. It is nice to hear you as well. 'Ow have things been?"

"Oh, you know. Up and down. I've been on the phone with Estee Lauder all day about your new fragrance."

"Nudity?"

"Yes. They're in love with Alicia, but wanted a shoot with the woman behind the scent. I was thinking how wonderful it would be to get you and Alicia together."

"Mm, I thought you already have," she laughed.

Despite the hatred he was feeling towards the French model, he couldn't help but stir at the memory. He glanced at Ilena, who'd slipped into her chocolate brown evening gown. Maybe he would have to get some quick satisfaction before he started to get ready himself.

"You're in Paris now?"

"As usual." Deceiving bitch!

"Then this week's too early to make it back here for the shoot? How about next week? Monday or Tuesday?"

"I'll have to check with Renee." Her personal assistant. "Perhaps I'll get in the night before and the three of us can get together to go over what Estee Lauder wants…"

Alexander Mishin adjusted his cock, then crooked his finger towards Ilena. "I like your business sense." He laughed.

Ilena rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what was going through her employer's mind. She always did. That's what he loved about her. Without a word, she unfastened the long gown and let it pool around her ankles.

"We will talk in the next few days," Gabrielle said.

"Looking forward to it." Alexander fished his cock out as the brown-haired Russian girl unfastened her bra. Her large breasts bounced as they came free. A nice tit-fuck would be fun, but right then and there, he needed pussy. He impatiently waved his hand at her thong, which she'd put on over the garter belt. Smart girl.

Ilena gave an exaggerated sigh, slipped her thumbs into the panties and paused. He ended the call and speed-dialed Roy. "Run a trace on my last phone call. I want to know where Gabrielle is." He snapped the phone shut before his own personal assistant was able to respond, and tossed it into the corner. "Now, get that cunt over here!"

She giggled, loving the feeling of subservience, and stepped out of the lacy undergarment. Beneath the barely there triangle of short brown pubes, the swollen lips of her already full vulva were glistened with need.

She hopped up into Alexander's lap, impaling herself on his cock with the practice of a Russian gymnast. Her snatch was just what he needed: snug and warm and slippery. He could be a little late for the charity event. Right? He wasn't needed until the end…

***

Alicia felt like Cinderella as she stepped into the ballroom at the Four Seasons Beverly Hills. Well, a Cinderella who wore an evening dress short enough that stockings were out of the question, anyway.

Everything was fairytale. The crystal chandeliers. The gilt-inlaid columns. The beautiful people. Servers in white tuxedos filtered through the crowd holding trays of champagne and passed hors d'oeuvres. A minuet played by a live, three-string orchestra floated in an atmosphere so thick with decadence that she felt like she could swim away in it.

And guiltily, she had to admit how much she loved it. Flash bulbs greeted her as she'd stepped into the ballroom, but the limited press knew not to ask questions. They were there to record the beauty – and maybe catch a little gossip – nothing more.

"That's such a beautiful dress!" a young girl she didn't recognize commented as she stepped into the hall. "Gaultier?"

"Thank you. And yes, you've got a good eye." The woman blushed and returned to her conversation as Alicia sauntered in.

The blonde felt alive. For a second, she was Cinderella. Everyone was looking. Everyone wanted to be her. Or wanted her. Her body tingled with the rush of their stares.

But was all a cover, right? She was doing this to bring justice to those who deserved it. Not to find fame and fortune. It was wrong, but she could play along. Just for a little.

Unlike her panic attack at Condo, somehow the contradictions were as harmonious as a duet. Her thoughts danced through the air, weaving and spinning around one another in a beautiful waltz.

That was most likely the pills she'd taken before arriving, but if they helped her get through moments like these, how could they be wrong?

Vincent had remained true on his promise. He really had changed. He really was a good man. He'd left her a small bottle of what looked like eye drops with a set of typed instructions. Get him drink. Put three drops in his final drink. He'll think he had the night of his life.

There was nothing to worry about tonight. It was no less of a show than walking down the runway. She had nerves of steel for that. She could have nerves of steel for this.

"Hey, Alicia, you're looking GOOD!" Tony commented, stepping away from the little clique of beautiful people he was chatting with.

"You're not so bad yourself," she returned, just as confidently. He wore a tuxedo with a mandarin collar, like he thought he was Will Smith. Internally, she chuckled to herself. Even with his classic tall-dark-and-handsome looks, he looked like a faker. How had she ever fallen for him last weekend?

"I'm on the auction bloc, you know."

"I know. First up," she smiled. "It's why I'm here." She winked and sashayed past him with an extra sway in her step. She didn't need to look back to know where his eyes were.

***

Erin Small could smell the anticipation of sex in the air. Such a nice smell mixed with wealth and celebrity, she thought. In some way, she controlled them all. When the rich and beautiful needed to scratch that itch that couldn't be satisfied any other way, she was the one they all turned to.

She ascended the stage, ready to start the annual auction of LA's most eligible bachelors. It was a bit ironic that when she gave away her money, she sold off men. When she made it, she sold off women.

Getting on the invitation list was something to brag about. It was exclusive. Most faces were recognizable, or would be in a year or two. Models, actors, rich executives. But this wasn't some public charity. This was an excuse for LA's finest to fuck.

The crowd quieted as Erin took her position behind the delicate glass podium. Minglers turned to her as a hush settled across the room. She waited for the murmurs to die down, her blue eyes taking it all in.

Walking up to the front of the room was Alicia Kennedy, her latest (and possibly sexiest) conquest. She wore her hair up, away from the scandalously short (for any other gathering) trapeze dress that bounced and fluttered about her thighs with each long, confident stride. She looked natural in a room of beauty and youth. This was her element.

Landing her was going to prove bigger than Gabrielle Dubois in the end, she knew, and her claws were already in too deep for the innocent girl to ever get away.

On the opposite side of the room, near the back, was Alicia's husband. He'd been a good fuck. Too bad he was being set up to take the fall, but someone needed to get the Feds off her back. Or whoever it was Vincent said was on her. By his side was his faux wife, the small brunette with a body that Erin couldn't wait to see on her surveillance film. She sighed, wishing she could trade places with Sarah Ellis for this one night.

"Thank you for coming, everyone," she said, shifting back to the opening presentation, now that the crowd had quieted. "I hope you've all enjoyed yourselves so far." There was a murmuring of approval. "All proceeds from tonight's charity auction go to helping victims of domestic abuse nationwide. It's a really great cause." Of course, no one here cared one iota about where the money was going, but she had to put on pretenses, after all.

"We've got 15 very eligible bachelors tonight." She could practically hear the women salivating. "As in previous years, we'll be holding auctions in sets of five. And ladies, you're buying a date. I can't promise any more than that. The rest is up to you."

That was met with cheers and whistles, from both men and women. "So let's begin. Our first bachelor is Anthony Garza, and if you know LA's party scene, you know who I'm talking about. Tony, come on up here!"

***

Trey didn't know where to look. So much eye-candy. Too much! And Liz certainly didn't make it any easier. When he walked up to her at the bar, it took him a moment to connect the dark haired vixen with C.L.O.A.K.'s trainer of secret agents. With her petite stature, rounded face, and freckles, the former redhead had always been cute-bordering-on-beautiful. Now she was in the untouchable realm of hot women.