Beautiful Model For Sale: HOT and SEXY Romance!

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Romance  |  House: Booksie Classic
Charlene Kane, the sixteen-year-old heroine of Beautiful Model for Sale, is another example of the young American who finds that dreams can come true (although, needless to say, her story is completely fictional). Charlene wants nothing so much as to be a successful fashion model. She has a better-than-average opportunity because her mother, who is still well on the youthful side of forty, is an acknowledged winner in the fashion "game" already. Ironically, however, Charlene's mother turns out to be almost as much of a hindrance as a help. Aside from being able to introduce Charlene to some of the right people to get her started in her career, Sonja turns out to be an inherently destructive type and Charlene has to learn the painful lesson that it is better to go it alone, doing things her own way.....Now The Action Begins....

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Submitted: November 18, 2018

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Submitted: November 18, 2018



Chapter 1

Charlene Kane stepped out of the car, straightened her short skirt, and turned to the boy. "Thanks, Tom," she said.

Tom smiled. "You don't think your mother will be mad, do you? It's two o'clock."

"Not my mother," Charlene laughed. "You know Sonja better than that!"

Then she leaned forward and gave the boy a smallish peck on the cheek, an incongruous peck in light of what they'd been doing earlier.

"Bye, for now," she said, and started up the walkway toward the shrub-lined house. It was a beautiful night and Charlene thought to herself it was a shame to walk indoors, away from it; this would be a perfect night for swimming in the nude. But no no time for that. Besides, she wasn't especially happy with the way the evening had turned out.

Tom had been nice enough and things had gone pleasantly, but she certainly hadn't been brought to the pitch of excitement she had anticipated. But then, maybe she had expected too much. Maybe her girl friends had been putting her on when they told her how way-out their sexual experiments had been. Maybe this this partly satisfactory, lukewarm experiment with Tom was all there was to it. She hoped not. And deep in the recesses of her mind, she thought not.

But, all in all, Tom had been nice, and though he hadn't provided what she sought, she none the less felt that she had been close for however short a period of time to someone. And that was a definite plus. Being shuttled, as she was, between her divorced parents, she had begun to feel like a much mailed but never accepted parcel.

Finally, the key worked in the sticky lock. She opened the door as quietly as possible, but, as always, it creaked. She loved the old house on Laurel Canyon and always looked forward to her court-approved visits with Mom. But this time, unfortunately, her usual joy was dampened. The circumstances of this homecoming were altogether different from those previous visits. This time, Charlene felt, her whole life was on the line. Earlier, she had had an urge to come straightaway to her mother to blurt out the awful recent events in a torrent of words and tears but then had recalled how her mother was always easier to talk to in the morning. She was glad, in retrospect, that she had accepted the date with Tom even if she had used him principally as an escape.

Of course, there was the possibility that Mom would still be out with one of the clients the male clothing buyers who made or broke the ready-wear manufacturers by their decisions, and who, in effect, dictated fashion industry trends as much as anyone. If so, there was no telling when she'd be home. For that matter, there was no certainty that Mom wasn't in Vegas or some other posh place, sopping up drinks, throwing away the buyer's expense-account money, having a hell of a good time, putting out. Oh, yes, Mom put out just as if it were going out of style. She had once told Charlene that whenever a man didn't proposition her the more directly the better she felt slighted, and, inevitably, angered. Mom by her own exaggerated account, that is had never turned down anyone who could walk or talk, or who was otherwise capable of functioning.

But that wasn't altogether strange, in Charlene's view; not if one first considered the demands and intrigues of the fashion industry. Girls young, not so young, even well-ripened, like Mom, though she could pass for twenty-five were called upon to do just about anything necessary to insure an account. A carload of crisp new pant suits, for example, might represent employment for hundreds of garment workers, and profit enough to sustain the interest of the investors. Yes, a sale like that pretty much justified whatever sacrifice it entailed.

Charlene closed the door quietly and allowed her eyes a few moments to adjust to the semi-lighted hallway.

Won't Mom be surprised when she finds me curled up in my own bed in the morning, Charlene thought. She momentarily considered waking her mother to announce her visit, but thought better of it,decided to be very quiet, just in case. Tomorrow would be soon enough to explain the unexpected visit. No, this was not just a visit. She would never be going back to her Dad. Not ever!

She caught a glimpse of herself in the antiqued hall mirror. Not bad, she thought, with a toss of her long blonde hair. A little disheveled maybe, from wearing the same clothes since morning, but she still didn't look too bad in her short summer dress with the matching panties. Mom, the old mannequin who'd never die, only pivot away she didn't mean that the way it sounded, she chided herself, but it was true, Mom would never quit had told her that mini dresses were out, that this summer's fashion was instead to wear very short skirts or dresses with matching panties. "Teenage fashion," she had qualified, and not for "old broads" like herself. And that was funny in itself. Sonja called herself an "old broad," but God help anyone else who might choose to call her that.

Anyway, in Charlene's view, her mother would probably accept the role of the little old lady on television who advertises the Greyhound Bus, or the next-door neighbor who tells the pretty young bride how to make coffee, before she'd ever give up the idea of modeling, or posing, or acting. Of course, she was a long way from that. In commercials she was the beautiful young mother whose perfect hands put her daughter's to shame. She also looked sensational walking down the runway in the tearooms of the better department stores modeling lavish Paris imports with elegant style.

It was fortunate, Charlene thought, as she removed her shoes to tiptoe up the squeaky stairs, that she kept a few clothes here, since this time she'd run off without even an overnight bag. Of course, she would no doubt find several new samples of next season's line hanging fresh and crisp in her closet. Obtaining these samples, Charlene suspected, was an "extra" bonus her mother received for being "extra" cooperative.

With each careful step upward and with each predictable squeak, she held her breath for fear that her breathing, added to the noise of the creaking, would cause her discovery. She conjured up a vision of all the termites holding hands to keep the old stairs from caving in. The thought made her almost laugh, but when she reached the top landing she slowly allowed herself to breathe again.

It was then, above the complete stillness of the house, that she heard the strange noises. As she crept down the hall the noises became louder. They were moans, maybe even strangled screams, but not the sort of screams one makes when frightened or hurt or angry, as she had been earlier that day during that awful scene with Dad.

She finally stood at the open door of her mother's luxurious bedroom. She could see everything plainly. The glow from a nearby candelabra threw dancing light upon the two forms in the over-large bed. Charlene felt a sudden shock, for she was certain one of those entwined bodies belonged to Mom. Yet, she reasoned, why should she be shocked? She knew very well what sort of things her mother did. But here she was personally viewing what she had heretofore only imagined, and the actuality of the thing was, indeed, somewhat shocking. But, as Charlene soon discovered, there is but a very thin line separating shock and excitement.

She stood transfixed, hypnotized, by the view of the writhing bodies.

"Oh, my God," she heard her mother moan, "it's so wonderful. What a huge, gorgeous cock! Yes. Oh, yes, fuck me hard and fast. It's so good." Her shapely model's legs were wrapped tightly around the man's hips as her own thrust forward to meet him. She seemed intent on taking as much of him as possible.

Charlene heard the man say, "You've got the sweetest, hottest, drippiest cunt in the world, baby. And you want me to fuck you every night, don't you? You beg me to fuck you every night. And you're not going to let anybody else fuck you, right?"

"Oh, yes, yes, darling," Sonja gasped. "Anything you say. You're the only man I want... Oh, God, I'm coming, I'm coming... oh, Christ, that big hard cock is going to kill me!"

Charlene could feel her own excitement rising. She could feel, as if by osmosis, her mother's hot passion flow through her own body. Hot fluids were building and secreting. And then, as she watched on, those same fluids and pressures announced their demand to be released. When she saw her mother's body shake in great tumultuous waves simultaneously grabbing the pillow and digging her tapered nails into it, so as not to rip into the man's back Charlene very nearly duplicated the older woman's orgasm. She was tempted to slip her hand into her panties and finger herself one touch would be enough, she thought but she was also enraptured on an intellectual level, and thus wanted to continue giving her sharp attention to the scene.

Now spent, obviously exhausted, the two perspiring bodies on the bed collapsed, supine, no longer entwined. At length, the man said, in a low voice, "Well, at least you didn't scratch my back to shreds. That was really nice."

"Oh, was it ever! Even if I did have to mangle that poor pillow instead of you, it was the greatest." Charlene, still hidden and stark motionless, was mildly curious about this last exchange, With Tom, earlier, she had experienced no desire whatever to scratch and claw, but then, she had experienced damned little desire of any sort nothing, certainly, approaching what she had just witnessed. Had she known the significance her mother and the man attached to those references to scratching and clawing, Charlene likely would have been greatly envious that anyone could actually rise to such throes of passion.

Sonja had clawed him fiercely the first time they were together. At the time, Jon hadn't minded too much he, too, had surrendered to passion but later, when he saw himself in the mirror, he had been furious. After all, Jon was an actor. He had a great body and there would surely be upcoming scripts which would call for a beautiful physique. If Sonja did that to him very often, he'd soon be out of business tanned skin and all.

Jon made sure she would never do it again. He taught her that no matter how passionately spaced-out she might be, she was to use the pillow, not his back. He didn't really want to slap the hell out of her as he had another earlier broad with similar inclinations. After all, Sonja's living depended on her magnificently silken skin and unmarred, chiseled features. She was quite a looker for thirty-five, who readily passed for twenty-five, and Jon was more than willing to help her perpetuate that illusion. It was, in the long run, to his benefit. Sonja knew lots of people.

He had taken corrective measures the second night. First he had turned her on by playing with her melonlike knockers, and then her red-hot cunt giving it a lick or two as a sort of promissory note against further payments to come. Then, just when she was moaning and begging to be fucked, he had pulled her off the bed onto the floor, where he peremptorily pushed her blonde head between his legs and ordered her to suck his cock. That wasn't unusual because she always sucked cock, and loved every minute of it, but this night he told her she should play with herself at the same time because she wasn't getting any more fucking.

"Why the hell not?" she had demanded, her large green eyes widening. "You're always able to get it up again, even if I blow you all the way."

"Not tonight, baby. You're going to remember not to cut me up, no matter how excited you get. Now, get that cock in your mouth like a good girl and give it a top-notch sucking, or you won't get fucked for a week."

She had obeyed, taking the rock-hard cock in one hand, licking it gently and lightly at first, then covering it with her warm mouth. Finally, after prolonged ministration in this manner, she gradually inserted the entire shaft into her mouth, moaning with deep satisfaction as she felt the bulbous glans lodge in her upper throat.

"Play with that hot cunt of yours while you're blowing me, baby."

She obeyed, moving two fingers into the slippery softness between her legs.

"That's right, baby," he cried, "give it to us both." He began moving his hips forcibly forward so as to meet her eager mouth head-on, and she sucked faster and faster and played with herself faster and faster until they were both beyond containment and exploded into massive, shaking releases.

But she hadn't believed his earlier threat. After she had attentively and lingeringly sucked him dry and licked every last drop of the filmy sweet fluid from his softening prick, she began anew. There was really no clear separation between the first session and the second, and his cock never really left her mouth. Jon did not object at all. Then, more earnestly, it seemed, Sonja began applying furious strokes, until his strength was fully returned and his turgid cock was, it seemed, larger than ever.

But then, even after such faithful labor, he hadn't thrust it into her aching cunt, despite her pleas. His word was good. He had commanded that she continue and then he had burst forth a second time into her mouth. After she had swallowed this second load and obediently licked the softening cock dry again, she asked, "How can you treat me like this, you sonofabitch?"

"I told you how it was going to be, baby. But just keep suckin' like you do, and I might give you time off for good behavior. You might get fucked sooner than you think."

"It damn well, better be tomorrow," she had retorted, "or I'll find somebody else who'll be happy to do the job."

He had pushed her further than anyone ever had, and Jon was no fool. The following night he had impaled her cunt right up to the hilt and ridden her forcefully for what seemed like hours. And nowadays he fucked her good and hard every night to be certain he was keeping her to himself. He drained her of all desire for other men.

Charlene stood fascinated at the doorway, still undiscovered. She could see his hoselike phallus plainly from where she stood and realized that she'd never before seen anything so utterly beautiful. Nothing had ever stirred her so strangely, pleasantly, as what she had just witnessed. Her own fumbling sexual endeavors with young Tom paled by comparison, She had thought she felt love and desire for Tom, but it was nothing next to this. Now she felt a goose-pimply excitement, a deep yearning, a burning gush of heat in her groin. Now she was aware of her empty vagina. She ached. If not for a cock, then maybe a hand at least that. Anything to touch her there. She could tell she was dripping wet, a condition she had never before experienced. At first, she felt almost giddy, and then, to add to her already peaked excitement, she saw her mother lean over that fabulously lovely male part and lick it with her tongue in slow, long strokes, then put her soft pliable lips over its beautiful tip and nibble and kiss it, and then suddenly thrust her wide-open mouth down over the whole great staff.

"Oh, baby," she heard the man groan. "You gotta be the greatest cocksucker in the world."

And then Charlene heard the mixed sounds groans of pleasure and wet sucking noises. She licked her own lips and wanted desperately to taste a gorgeous cock like that. She had never called it a cock before or thought of it as anything but the "thing," but now she fully understood it was a cock. The rooster was a cock and he was beautiful when he spread his feathers in display. So, too, a displayed man, a cock, was important and beautiful, perhaps the most artistically conceived and perfectly created jewel in all the world.

She couldn't stand it any longer. She was weak. She must succumb to the situation, she thought. She slid quietly to the floor just as the man was beginning to explode into what must have been the most heavenly sort of release. She knew that men ejaculated "white stuff and she could hear the urgent swallowings as her mother feasted upon the copious load of warm semen.

Then she heard the man moan, "That was the greatest, baby, just the greatest. It never felt so good. You always make it feel great, but this time you surpassed yourself, Sonja."

"And, you turned me on like never before, baby," Sonja murmured. "I think you made me come twenty times before you even fucked me."

"You deserve the best, doll. You're the greatest lay I ever had. And probably the best blow-job in the whole world."

Charlene reluctantly realized the scene had ended, and that she'd better tiptoe to her room before she was discovered.

Quietly cleaning up and then finding a pair of baby dolls, she crept into bed, where she lay fidgeting for what seemed hours. Sleep just wouldn't come because her insides still felt so terribly stirred. She had never thought of touching herself down there before, but now she could think of nothing else. When she had written a report on sex education in school, she had read that all children masturbated, but she couldn't see how that was true since she knew she hadn't, or at least, couldn't remember doing it.

She was as hot as ever, and then, as she relived the scenes she had just witnessed vicariously replacing her mother, of course she became even more aroused. She couldn't calm down, not even a little bit. There was no surcease, no palliative. Not really knowing or understanding why, she found herself pulling off her babydoll panties. Without volition, it seemed her hand went down to her hot, throbbing wetness. Oh, God, I'm dripping, she thought, absolutely dripping. My hand makes me feel better, it comforts me. She stroked herself, and then without warning, as if it might be a part of someone else's hand, her finger plunged into the wet folds of her vaginal lips. Next began a back-and-forth stroking over the taut little clitoris which she had always called her "button," but which now seemed to be the most centrally important thing in her life. In short minutes she developed an expertise which utterly belied her innocence.

Oh, God, that feels good, she whispered aloud as she began undulating her firm buttocks in tempo with her stroking. With her free hand she caressed her igloo-like breasts. Oh! God, it's really good! I have never felt so good in my life!

She opened her legs wide, and with two fingers rubbing over her moist crotch and into her burning insides, she pretended she was being ministered to by that beautiful male body in her mother's bed. Finally she thought perhaps she should stop, but found she couldn't. The hand seemed to have a life of its own. It just would not stop, just as it knew instinctively exactly what to do. Her mother had begged the man Jon, she had called him once to fuck her. Yes, that is what she was doing with her fingers: fucking herself. But she was pretending it was Jon Jon's fingers, tongue, cock, anything and it was the best thing she'd ever felt. She wished she could always feel this good. She knew she was just on the verge of something, something indefinable, and that it felt wonderful. She was reaching a high peak of pleasure that promised to end in something utterly delicious. Her busy little hand didn't stop, wouldn't stop, and then she felt an overwhelming heat surge through her, take her over. Her spine stiffened. She exploded into a million little pieces, and all the while her hand kept on, relentlessly, and she kept mounting up into more and more pleasure-able little peaks that finally shattered into one tremendous release.

She lay there, drained, her hand soaked and seemingly glued to her blonde pubic hairs, her legs carelessly flopped wide open.

She slept peacefully and heavily, happy in her very first truly physical pleasure, temporarily putting to rest the unhappiness that had brought her to her mother's house.

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