Christ gets a job at a modeling agency.Fusion Model Group.

Christ gets a job at a modeling agency. Fusion Model Group. Author's note: if anyone wants to comment or give an opinion, you can send an email to janis.estigma@hotmail.es I promise to respond. Thank you.Christ was returning home from the Village. He and Chessy had had lunch at Encarna's house, invited by the kind lady. Encarna was an energetic woman from Almería, already in her sixties. Like so many others, he emigrated from Spain in the sixties and met a very kind gay man. They reached a mutually beneficial agreement. If they married, she would get Citizenship and he would get a perfect cover. The idea came together so well that they spent almost three decades together, until her husband died of a heart attack, in bed with a twenty-two-year-old boy. Encarna ran a clean and honest boarding house, in a three-story building, near Chessy's apartment. The woman had her apartment on the ground floor and everything else was configured in rooms of different sizes, each with its own bathroom, to accommodate guests. Encarna was famous in the Village for its excellent cuisine. All her guests ate, at least once a day, with her, in the enormous dining room of her apartment. She followed the policy of the old lodging houses: meals were included in the price of the room. That was Encarna's routine, serving her guests, shopping at the NoHo market, and cooking for the two dozen clients she always had at her boarding house. She was no longer in charge of cleaning the building, relegating it to a couple of neighboring ladies, who were very happy with such an opportunity, but the kitchen was hers and no one else's. Chessy knew Encarna, because upon her arrival in the Village, she lived in her boarding house for three months and was well aware of the fame of her stews. So, when his friendship with Christ crystallized, it led him to meet such a lady. As soon as he entered Encarna's apartment, Cristo began to sniff like a pachón dog, his mouth salivating at the memories associated with such aromas. That day, specifically, the lady was sautéing pork loin, with garlic, wine and thyme, and then burying it in lard, and thus preserving it, as was still done in Spain. Who didn't have a clay centerboard, filled with cheese in oil or loin in animal fat? Cristo smiled, thinking about the answer... those from the city didn't have it, the creepers, as they were called in their country. It was a very southern name, composed of two words: trepa, a colloquial form that meant throw on the ground, spill, and orzas, the small fired clay jars that were used to store perishable foods, preserved in oil or brine. When the emigration boom arrived, which spread Andalusians around the world, a strong demand was generated for the region's typical products. Those emigrants could not find these delicacies, to which they were so accustomed, in Germany, Switzerland, or England. Not even those who had stayed in the north of Spain managed to do so. So, when they returned on vacation, they would stock up on traditional provisions that would last them at least half a year, so they could taste the aftertaste of their homeland again. Hams, blood sausages and chorizos, meat in butter, dried vegetables, aged cheeses, and candied fruits, were prepared in Andalusian homes, by devoted relatives, waiting for those who were far away to arrive and “climb the daggerboards” to take all these products. Well, that's what Encarna's apartment smelled like, old-fashioned Andalusian cuisine, like when slaughter was done in the clan and five or six large pigs were sacrificed, which were turned into chops, hams, and delicious sausages that would disappear in the following months. As for the lady, she was very happy to greet a boy from Algeciras, so far from her homeland. He invited them to some appetizers, and Chessy laughed, listening to them chatter in that fast, whistling language that they said was Spanish, but that was nothing like what was spoken in the Spanish neighborhood. From then on, both were invited to have lunch at Encarna's table, along with their guests, at least once a week. And from there, he came, with his belly swollen from having twice repeated a heaping plate of stew, which did not lack anything, from his chickpeas, his beans, and his tender potatoes, to a good piece of ribs, some turkey, and fresh bacon that arrived with the pringá. It had been months since he had tasted a stew like that and he had gorged himself. That's why, when he opened the door to the loft, he was looking forward to taking a short nap, to improve digestion, you know. As usual, both his aunt and cousin were not at home, so he had a couple of hours alone to snooze comfortably. He heard the muffled sobs as he put his foot on the first step that led to the attic. He got over his surprise and looked into his cousin's bedroom. The Japanese screen, black and flowery, was removed. He could see that there was no one. He chose to look in his aunt's and saw her lying on the bed, her face hidden in her hands, crying silently. He wondered what had happened to break down a woman as whole as Faely like that. Had an accident occurred? I didn't believe it, they would have called him, right? ―           Is something wrong, tita? – he asked very softly. I noticed how the woman tried to suppress her tears, but it still took almost a minute for her to raise her head, sipping the tears. She looked at him with those reddened eyes and smiled. ―           It's nothing, Christ, just women's things. Don't worry. ―           Tita, please – he sat on the edge of the bed, speaking softly to her, in Spanish. – Just because you see me as a kid, doesn't mean I hate it. I won't believe that a bunch of women make you cry. You are an experienced woman, used to setbacks. So I ask you again... Is something wrong? ―           It's okay... anyway, you'd end up finding out – she sighed, taking a tissue from a dresser drawer and wiping her face. – A certain problem has arisen at Juilliard that may… affect me. ―           With any students? – Christ didn't know why, but that sounded like a sexual problem. ―           No, for God's sake… With a teacher, a colleague… ―           Amm – Cristo waited for his aunt to explain herself. ―           You see, after several years of celibacy, I have had an affair with a… partner. It all ended months ago, but now he is having problems with his wife and has decided to come back to me. ―           Zi? ―           And I don't want to! But he blackmails me with a series of photos that he has in his possession. He threatens to make them public at school and that would be fatal for me. Juilliard does not tolerate attitudes of this type among its faculty. I can't let them fire me, Christ. - Good. It's a complicated matter. We have to level the balance. Normally, it would be resolved through violence; Beat him up and take away his photos, of course... ―           No, I can't do that to him… ―           I already imagined it. Blackmail him in turn? Do you know anything juicy about him? ―           No. Besides, he has little to lose now. Cristo sighed, searching for more ideas. ―           I need to know more. I can't look for a way out with so little data. “Not now,” her aunt suddenly sobbed. – I can't talk about that! ―           Okay, tita, calm down. Zolo tell me if he is putting too much pressure on you... ―           He hasn't given me an ultimatum, but he has made it clear to me that he is serious. - Very good. You have to think about it. I'm good at these things, you know? I have arranged similar matters, there in Algeciras, but I must know everything, to think about the details, the implications. Do you understand? “Yes, Christ, but… not now,” Faely whispered. ―           Well, it doesn't matter. You say there's still time... but don't waste it. ―           Yes – she sipped. – Christ… - That? ―           Thank you – she said, leaning over him and giving him a kiss on the cheek. - You are welcome. That's why you're my tiiiiita – he smiled. _______________________________________________________ That same afternoon, Zara arrived at the loft like a storm. He brought good news for his cousin: a job interview! The truth is, saying something like that in the face of a gypsy from Saladillo is not a very good idea. The Armonte clan and work... they don't seem to get along very well with each other, but Cristo endured stoically, like a champion, and listened to his cousin, leaning on the kitchen counter. Apparently, the girl who ran the virtual agency got married and left her job. I had heard him comment, that same morning, to the Iron Lady in person, – a nickname that the manager had earned – and I had thought about him. Cristo had told him, on several occasions, that he was quite good with computers, which was very true. Not in vain, he was in charge of downloads for the entire clan, both in movies and music. ―           I told the manager about you and I told her that there will be no problem taking care of the agency's website. Right, cousin? ―           Of course, cousin. Maintaining an official page is childish. ―           You will also have to take care of other things, like collecting the mail or putting out coffees. You already know… ―           Zi, I see, what ze says is “run, go and tell him” – sighed Cristo. ―           I don't know what that is, cousin. ―           A boy for everything, Zara. The wild card of the office – he smiled. ―           Yes, that, but… it's okay, right? ―           Zi, bonica, don't worry. A job is a job. The fact is that Christ did not need to work, for the moment. His savings were enough for him to spend a few years on vacation, but the news had certainly shocked him. It was a modeling agency! It wouldn't be a heavy or overwhelming job, and he would perhaps even have his own office. How can you resist being surrounded by beautiful girls? ―           Tomorrow you will come with me. The interview is at nine in the morning – Zara told him, taking out supplies from the refrigerator. ―           Perfect, cousin. ―           And my mother? – asked the beautiful mulatto, once the euphoria had disappeared. ―           Her head hurt and she lay in bed for a while – Cristo excused her. – Now we will call her to senate. Can I help you with something? ―           You can prepare the salad. Do you know how to make a Caesar? ―           What is he wearing? A wreath of laurels? “Nooo,” Zara exclaimed, laughing. – It is named after the chef who invented it. ―           Aaah… every day he learns something, cousin… you tell me what he has and I'll tell him… _______________________________________________ The agency was located on Dominick Street, not far from the subway stop. It was an old hotel, converted into a charming office block. The entire third floor was owned by Fusion Model Group, the name held by the agency. Zara led him through a pair of glass doors, leaving behind a sparkling blonde girl behind a marble counter, wearing a headset in her left ear. Zara introduced her as Alma, the receptionist. The girl gave him an incredible and professional smile, without stopping talking through the microphone. They walked through a wide hallway, with views to the outside and several offices. Zara told him that the administration staff and the advertising team were there. At the end of the corridor, the core of the agency opened, in several large annex rooms. Cristo observed the staff dynamics. The first room had two internal offices, cut with glass panels, covered by dark, half-raised blinds. ―           Those are the offices of the boss's assistants – Zara explained. In the center of the room, surrounding a fountain of drinking water and a candy bar machine, several armchairs organized a waiting area, where two beautiful girls were sitting, both black, and, in front of her, a man in his fifties, clinging to a briefcase, who couldn't take his eyes off them. At the other end, behind a frosted screen, several hairdressing chairs were empty, along with enormous mirrors, provided with their own lighting. ―           Territory of the makeup and hair team – Zara said, pointing. Zara led him to the next room, separated only by an entrance arch. To the right, as if it were a gigantic glass urn, a huge meeting room was displayed, equipped with a long table, as well as an area of ​​chairs for the audience, against the back wall. To the left, two doors with golden signs. This time, the walls were not glass, but brick. ―           The offices of the Iron Lady and the boss, as well as the large meeting room – her cousin explained. – Beyond, there are two photomontage rooms, a small photo laboratory, bathrooms and changing rooms. On the upper floor, the agency has a warehouse, to which we have access both from the changing rooms and from the main staircase. Zara knocked on the door marked “Priscila Jewinski, manager” and entered. Cristo waited at the door, feeling a little nervous. This situation was absolutely new for him, both the work and the environment. Zara came out and, smiling at him, motioned for him to come in. ―           Well, now it's your turn. Call me with whatever happens, okay? ―           Okay. Wish me luck, cousin. ―           Good luck, cousin – he said, placing a big kiss on his cheek. An older lady, about sixty years old, sat behind a steel and glass desk, with a very modernist touch. She was looking at her computer screen and motioned for him to take a seat in front of her. Christ did so and contemplated the woman, discreetly. Her hair was short and curly, arranged in large waves, of a pure platinum tone that perfectly concealed her gray hair. He had an intelligent look that used to narrow his dark eyes. His face, already touched by age, still showed the trace of a glorious past. From what Christ could see, through the glass cover of the table, he was wearing fitted, dark-colored pants and a satin blouse, in an ecru color, very elegant with its lace cuffs. Without yet having the manager's attention, Cristo looked around the office. It turned out to be a bit spartan for his taste. A small black leather sofa, against one of the walls, two filing cabinets next to the window, behind the desk; a side table behind the door, with an ergonomic chair, and the chair itself on which Christ sat. There were hardly any personal objects, except for a picture frame on the woman's desk, with a photo that the gypsy couldn't see, and a large framed photo on one of the walls. Cristo recognized the manager, at least thirty years younger, in the snapshot of a beautiful smile, shown in the foreground. Behind the smiling face, in the mists, the Brooklyn Bridge. ―           That photo is from 1972 – the lady suddenly said. – I had just arrived in New York. ―           It is beautiful – Christ mused. - Thank you. Is your name...? ―           Cristóbal Heredia, ma'am. ―           Good Christopher. Zara has spoken very well about you. I think you are family. ―           Yes, ma'am. She is my cousin, on my mother's side. ―           So she's part Hispanic? – raised an eyebrow. ―           Spanish – Christ corrected him. – Like me. ―           Beautiful country… Spain. I was at the San Fermines several times… ―           I am from the other end of the country. ―           Ah, Andalusia, I see… lovely beaches and many bars with tapas… ―           You know my country very well, lady – said Cristo, somewhat flattering. - Yeah. I plan to return on vacation. We'll see... ―           Let me know when you decide, I can recommend some amazing places, of course, off the beaten path. Purely naive... ―           It would be appreciated, Cristóbal, and now, let's leave the tourist tour and focus on what the agency needs. ―           Yes, ma'am – Cristo stiffened in the chair. The manager looked him straight in the eyes for a few seconds. He took a pencil in his hand and began to play with it between his fingers. ―           Do you bring references? A resume? – he asked, with a sly smile. ―           No, ma'am. It has taken me completely by surprise. I'm on vacation in New York, with no thoughts of working. I was almost dragged to your office, ma'am – Cristo returned the smile, along with the joke. ―           Ah, girls today are very impulsive. - A lot. I'm starting to notice it. However, I will be honest with you. I have never worked for an employer. The little I've done has been in a family business, but if it's any use, I can hack any medium-security system. ―           Wow… we're not going to storm the Pentagon, kid. Christ swallowed the word “boy.” This was not the time to protest the deal. If the lady wanted a smart “boy”, he would give her that same thing. ―           Because you don't want to, because “weapons of mass destruction” they do have – he said, pointing with his thumb over his back, referring to the pretty girls in the other room. The manager let out a surprising laugh, in a loud and contagious tone. ―           I like you, Cristóbal. You have just the character needed for a position like the one we offer. My name is Priscila – he told her, extending a hand over the desk. ―           Everyone calls me Christ. Delighted, Priscila – he replied, taking the warm hand. - Good. The work is the following. The company's official website is updated daily, with events, job offers, new campaigns, and other sections. The profiles of the represented models are also updated, as appropriate: work chronicle, gossip, statements for fans... At this moment, we have two hundred and twenty-one models, both female and male; of which, at least thirty are first class. Cristo let out a whistle that pleased the manager. ―           Could you take care of that? ―           No problems, Priscila. As well as the maintenance of the server and the internal office network. - Really? Cristo nodded, without altering his smile. Who knows what the previous girl was doing... ―           You would deliver the day's mail, after collecting what was in the post office box. ―           Okay. ―           You would run an errand for the departments. Do you have a driving license? ―           Of course – his expression did not move one bit with the lie. - Very good. You would take care of various tasks that arose, unexpectedly. Would you mind getting me or our boss, Mrs. Newport, some coffee? ―           Not at all, Priscila, as long as it's not all at once. ―           Hahaha… You have a good mood, Christ. I like it. ―           Thank you, Priscila… or should I call you something special, if you decide to have me work here? – he asked, with some tint. ―           Oh, everyone calls me Miss P, I've gotten used to that. “That and the Iron Lady, are my noms de guerre,” she laughed. – But you can call me Priscila, in confidence. “He seems to like me,” Christ said to himself. ―           Normally, I don't usually do this. He let the administrative department do the hiring, but he trusted Zara. So go to Administration and hand this in – the lady asked, signing a job application. ―           Right away, Priscila. When do you want it to start? ―           Take advantage of the fact that Marion is still here, and let her update you on everything she's doing. So, as soon as you leave Administration, go to Reception and ask for her. ―           Marion, huh? OK. – he said with one last smile, getting up to leave the office. ―           Christ... forgive me for asking you, but how old are you? ―           Twenty-eight, Priscila – this time, he looked at her seriously, seeing how the surprise was reflected on her face. He cut her off before she could speak. – It's a long story, ma'am, maybe another time. In Administration, he met a thin and sad man, who seemed to have sucked lemons since he was born, who, without hardly any words, took care of filling out his file with the pertinent information, leaving open a deadline to submit his work permit and his social security number. With caution, Mr. Garrico – the name that was on the plate on the table – informed him of his salary, four hundred and sixty dollars a week (about three hundred and fifty euros) and his medical insurance coverage. He returned to the Reception desk, where he found that Alma was no longer alone, but that a plump girl, with a gaze cloistered by black-rimmed glasses, and her hair tied up in a tight ponytail, was sitting next to her. Marion, he thought and he was completely right. Alma shook his hand, while he was on a call to some department, and welcomed him to the agency. This time the smile seemed sincere. He showed him where he could get a chair and, before doing so, Cristo secretly admired the blonde Alma's great body. Too plump to be a model, but there was no doubt that she had emerged from their ranks. He sat next to Marion, introducing himself in the same way. This one, unlike her partner, was a cutesy brainiac full of prejudices, who explained to her, almost with disdain, what her tasks would be. As Christ had suspected, the girl limited herself, scrupulously, to entering data into her computer. I didn't want to know anything about servers, networks, or external problems. He was sure that, even less, he would serve a coffee... but he would do it, with pleasure. That would allow him to move around the agency and snoop around. That would be a ton of fun! The only joy Marion gave him was when she told him that he should also take care of photographing the events. So I would be present at parties, conventions, galas, and catwalks, photographing models and guests, and then including the best ones on the web. Likewise, you should update the profile photos of the models, but to do so, you would use professional photos that would be provided to you. Every man's dream! On the other hand, Alma informed him of the agency's hierarchy, between calls. He had already met Garrico, the administrator, who also used his young secretary as a lover. Miss P was the engine of the agency, experienced, dynamic, and somewhat tyrannical. Alma attended visitors, made calls, picked up messages, and, in a word, acted as a traffic guard at the entrance. The advertising department worked seasonally, with defined projects, and, at that time, it didn't have them, so they weren't there. The boss would arrive mid-morning and go over matters with her right-hand woman, Miss P, and either leave again or lock herself in her office. She only dealt with the big events, or with the three first ladies of the agency, that is, the most remunerative models. Alma pointed out a framed photograph on one of the walls of the entrance, which was visible at the exit, not at the entrance. In it, the bust of a beautiful woman smiled at the camera, her hands crossed under her chin. He was dressed elegantly and was leaning on a wooden table. Below it, in gold letters, it read: Candy Newport, Director of Fusion Models Group. Christ reviewed his memories. He knew that woman, or, at least, he had seen her before. Indeed, I had seen her along with other famous mature women, on a list of glamorous MILFs, in one of the virtual razzias she organized with her cousins, on the Internet. She still remembered what Ramón, one of her most candid cousins, said: “If she were my mother, I would always be pretending to be sick so she could take care of me.” She had been a highly sought-after model, along with very famous colleagues, such as Cindy Crawford, Eva Herzigova, Naomi Campbell, Claudia Schiffer, or Tyra Banks; and, like these divas, she knew how to invest well in her future, creating an agency that had great assets. She and her two personal assistants, Crissa Hess and Niles Stucker, were in charge of personally representing the most promising models. The makeup and hairdressing team consisted of three people, as a base, but was expanded at important events. The locker room was entirely outsourced, along with its own staff. Two photographers collaborated with the agency, but were not on the payroll, and, finally, a subcontracted cleaning team came every day. ―           So this will be my job, right? – he asked Marion. - Yeah. Here you have everything when you need. Your terminal, the intercom, a journal, several pens – the girl listed, with a smile. ―           …and the beautiful Alma by my side. This is the best place in the entire agency! – Christ exclaimed, making the receptionist laugh. ―           I like flatterers – she responded. ―           Why are you leaving, Marion? This seems to be a good job. ―           I'm getting married and my future husband earns enough for me not to work. He wants me to dedicate myself only to him and our children. ―           I know the subject – Christ sighed. - What are you talking about? ―           Because you will be a broodmare – Alma replied. ―           More or less – Christ smiled. Marion shrugged. ―           I will have a good house, time for myself, and a maid to help me. I don't think it's a bad life. ―           No, as long as it's what you want – his partner told him. ―           It's what I've wanted since I became a woman. Now I will dedicate myself. These months before the wedding, to lose a few pounds to be pretty – she pouted, pulling her ponytail. ―           Even more? – Christ asked, flattering. – You are going to make your husband have syncope. And, in this way, Christ gained the trust of the two girls, paving their way in with much diplomacy. He called Zara, but she didn't answer, so he left her a message: “We are co-workers, cousin.” Mid-morning, when he was starting to get bored of sitting next to the girls, doing nothing, Zara appeared. He gave him a big hug and two kisses, congratulating him. He had just arrived from attending a posing course, taught by a Performing Arts teacher. The agency took these courses seriously, making attendance mandatory for all models without a specific task. That's why she had left her cell phone in her bag. "I'll take him downstairs for coffee," Zara said to Alma. ―           Okay. On the ground floor, there was a cafeteria, next to a good newsstand, and a flower shop. The cafeteria was full, as there were several offices on the block. They ordered coffee and tea, and shared a sandwich, while Cristo told him about his interview. ―           Miss P seems to like me. ―           She is severe, but she is not a bad person. If you do your job, you will have earned it. When do you start seriously? ―           Tomorrow is Marion's last day, as she will teach me administrator procedures with the server. Today I have been looking at the models' files and the website. I don't think you'll have any difficulties with it. ―           Very good, cousin. ―           I haven't seen the boss yet. ―           He didn't come today. - What's happening? Does it make you nervous? – Cristo asked, seeing how the coffee cup trembled in Zara's hands. ―           Well… he called me. - Who? ―           The boss. ―           Does the boss usually call you, cousin? Aren't you one of the newbies? Zara didn't answer and continued looking at the cup insistently. ―           Zara, what's wrong? Aren't you going to tell me? ―           Miss P took me to the boss's office, the first day I joined the agency. He didn't do it with any other rookie, because later I asked everyone. Apparently, Candy Newport knows Mom, from before. They agreed on I don't know what job and a couple of galas. ―           Well, it's not strange. Your mother works in a prestigious academy and has been an artist. Surely they will have coincided in some events – argued Cristo. ―           Yes, of course, but the strange thing is that they seemed intimate to me. At least, my boss knew a lot of details that are not just known. - AND? ―           Well, my mother has denied it! He says he doesn't know that lady at all! He doesn't remember her! Cristo thought about what Faely was keeping quiet about, about the problem she told him... Could it be related? ―           It's strange. ―           But it doesn't stop there. ―           Oh, right? ―           He undresses me with his gaze – Zara whispered. ―           How do you say? ―           Every time we pass each other or he enters the room, when I'm posing, I feel him watching me. I notice his eyes traveling all over my body. Her expression gives her away, she wants me... ―           Go to the boss. What are you up to? - Don't know. It has not been hinted at in the slightest; He always keeps his distance and composure, but... I don't know what to do if he takes the step and makes a move. ―           Really, Zara? ―           Christ… she is very beautiful and a living legend. I would kill to be like her, you understand? I don't think I can resist – the girl opened her hands. They remained silent, lost in their own thoughts. Zara was trying to imagine what her boss's fleshy lips would taste like, and Cristo, for his part, was thinking about how he could push his cousin into the arms of the hot Candy Newport. Each one expressed their dream of hope... the American dream... _________________________________________________ The following week, Cristo invited Chessy and Spinny to lunch, in the cafeteria on the ground floor of the agency building, to celebrate their new job. That day, he started on his own. Marion had left, heading to her idyllic world, and he was left as master of the network. Chessy was very proud of him, of his ability to integrate into American society. Of course he couldn't know that Christ was a human chameleon. Seeking his own comfort, he could even adapt to living in a tent, in the middle of the desert, as long as he did not have to go get water from the well. Two days before, Faely accompanied him to the Immigration office to apply for a new type of visa, this time for temporary work, and endorsed his residency accreditation. Cristo had no major problem, after showing a statement of his bank account, you know, if you prove that you have money to support yourself, you can stay in the United States. This is how he got his work permit and Social Security number. His romance with Chessy was going from strength to strength, or, at least, as far as he dared. He had already lost his temper with the transsexual's thin phallus and the kisses and caresses deepened his lust more and more, but he still did not dare to go beyond a handjob or fellatio. No rush, they said to each other, between romantic kisses. For her part, Chessy lived in an unusual state. She found herself immersed in a fluid emotional story, as romantic as a novel and totally unfamiliar to her. He lived delicious moments, comparable to idyllic movies, that captured his soul like a mosquito in amber. Chessy left her boyfriend's arm, gave him a kiss on the cheek, and said she was going to the bathroom. Spinny, as soon as he was alone with his colleague, told him, in a conspiratorial tone, that his father had ordered him to clean the lockers of Gus and Barney, the park rapists. So Spinny had found some cardboard boxes to store everything inside the lockers. The boxes would go to the small attic above the scrapyard office, waiting for the two former workers to get out of jail. “Look what I found in one of the lockers,” Spinny whispered, opening his guitar case and taking out a plastic bag. Spinny revealed a small glass jar with four lollipops inside, bathed in a colorless liquid. “I think the liquid is the same drug they used when they abused the girls in the playground,” he said, unscrewing the cap and sniffing inside. ―           How do you know? – Christ asked him, taking the boat and doing the same. ―           Why else would they leave lollipops soaking in a liquid if it wasn't some drug? - You're right. No doubt they were thinking of passing them on to other girls. ―           Chessy is coming! Keep them in your backpack! I don't have time to put them in the case anymore... Hurriedly, Cristo screwed on the lid and slid the bottle inside his backpack, open and hanging from the back of his chair. Spinny smiled nervously as Chessy sat down. ―           Surely you were already talking about girls – Chessy reproached them, seeing their expressions. ―           It's just that having your colleague working in a modeling agency, well... it's hard not to ask him anything! – said Spinny, accompanying his words with a giggle. The three of them laughed and continued chatting. They had dessert and coffee, while planning a trip to the north of the state. Chessy hurriedly informed Christ what time it was. He had gotten lost and should have already gone back to work. So he asked for the check, as they said goodbye, and five minutes later, he ran up the stairs to the third floor. The backpack, poorly placed on his back, wobbled excessively, causing the lid of the jar, closed hastily and without precision, to jump, spilling the liquid and leaving the lollipops dry. ―           Already playing hooky? – Alma smiled at her, as he arrived panting before her. ―           I was having lunch in the cafeteria, with my girl and a friend… we lost our minds… ―           Holy to heaven? – Alma was amazed. ―           It is a Spanish expression. It means that we have gotten lost. You know, watching with your mouth open as a holy man ascends towards heaven... - Ha ha ha! – The blonde burst out laughing. – You are very funny, Christ… really… ―           Well, you would have to see me naked, then you would be shocked… The girl put her hand over her mouth to stop the new laughter, as the phone began to ring. Cristo sat down at his post and left his backpack hanging from the hanger behind his back, with the zipper half open. Both immersed themselves in work activity, carried away by their dynamics. An hour later, Christ raised his eyes when he heard a loud clicking of heels. The first thing he saw was almost orange hair and a face full of freckles, advancing towards the counter. Who would not recognize that mottled face, endowed with the greenest eyes that ever existed on the face of the earth? ―           Damn! Katherine Voliant! – he gasped. ―           Yes, he has a session this afternoon – Alma replied. ―           I didn't know I was in this agency… ―           Haven't you read the cards yet? - No. - Lazy! – Alma whispered, smiling at the top model who stood at the counter. ―           Hello, Alma – the model greeted, leaning on the marble. -- How are you? ―           Like a flower pot planted in this hallway – the blonde joked. ―           But… do they water you? ―           Oh, not everything I would like… The two girls burst into laughter, while the model's companions arrived. A mature woman, with huge glasses, and a well-dressed guy, who looked like a lawyer. ―           Is he new or is he your son? – the orange-haired model asked, pointing to Christ, who stood stunned before her. ―           Katherine! – Alma admonished her. – It is Christ. Replaces Marion. “Ah, delighted,” he said, extending his hand. – You've finally gotten rid of that blandness. ―           He's getting married. “I pity the husband,” Alma waved her hand. - And you? Don't you speak? Do you just type? – the model asked Christ. ―           Sometimes I don't keep quiet – Cristo smiled, recovering the use of his jaw. – But, on other occasions, it is much better to contemplate… ―           Wow… how gallant… Are you Latino? ―           Just my language. I am from Spain. ―           Wow! A European boy. This agency is taking category. ―           Let the Iron Lady listen to you! – Alma laughed. Christ took a good look at that face that was just a foot away from him. She was beautiful even without makeup, with her hair that looked like it had been brushed by a lawnmower, a rusty color, and the enormous multitude of freckles that covered her entire face. It wasn't just a few freckles on her nose and cheeks, no… nothing like that. It was as if a can of lentils had exploded in his face, splashing his forehead, nose, cheekbones, jaw, part of his neck, shoulders – from what little Christ could see – and, probably, his entire chest. The skin was almost snowy, but the freckles were a brown tone, which made them stand out strongly. That made those two incredible eyes stand out even more, almost nullifying the gypsy's consciousness. He blinked several times when he realized that Katherine Voliant was speaking to him. - Yeah? ―           I was wondering if my profile is updated. - Don't know. I'm still going over Marion's work. ―           Let's see – said the model, going around the counter and standing behind Christ, with one hand resting on his shoulder. Cristo opened the profile section and looked for the pretty girl's. He opened it and they went over it together. ―           The Mexico event is not yet set. It is not updated. Are you going to do it…? Christ? ―           Yup, Christ, little zeñorita. I'm going to look for the photos of that party and update everything. ―           Olé! – she exclaimed, in response to the words spoken in Spanish by the young man. ―           It's almost time – said the woman, pointing to the clock. – We should move on to makeup now. ―           Yes, Helen, right away – he said, turning around and touching Christ's backpack with his back. Katherine turned and looked at her, discovering, through the open zipper, the jar with the lollipops. - My God! I haven't eaten one of these in ages! Whose backpack is it? ―           From Christ – Alma responded. ―           Can I get one? – he asked him directly. Christ remained static, not knowing what to say. I couldn't say no; It would remain like an edge, like an esborio, in its first days. But if not, what would happen? How would the model react? Christ shrugged his shoulders, making a decision. At least she wasn't a little girl and she would control herself, he told himself. ―           Please… do you want one, Alma? – he offered. ―           No, thank you, no sugar. As happy as a child, Katherine removed the lid and picked one up with two fingers, ready to put it in her mouth. ―           Not now, Katherine. “First makeup,” the woman scolded her. - You're right. Maybe I can use it for photos. ―           Good idea. Christ sighed, relieved. Whatever happened, it would happen outside the agency, he told himself. The model said goodbye to them and walked towards the interior rooms. Christ got up and checked the boat. The drug had soaked the bottom of the backpack and the lollipops were dry. He closed the bottle and zippered the backpack. He sat up, biting his lip. ―           She's pretty, huh? – Alma prodded him. ―           It made me feel like a little mouse in front of a beautiful snake. - Ha ha ha! Maybe it's like that... a real devourer... He likes you and that's usually difficult. Katherine is not one to give confidence at the first opportunity. ―           Should I feel honored? ―           Maybe so. ―           Who are those accompanying her? ―           Her Aunt Helen, who takes care of her makeup and Trask, her manager. ―           Livers – Christ spat. ―           Exactly, baby. Astute living things. _______________________________________________________ Katherine didn't know what was happening to her. He had been posing for almost an hour, with different outfits and different settings. Carl, one of the regular photographers, knew how to take advantage of her face and her sinuous body. The two of them had had fun, using the lollipop in many shots. In addition, it left a reddish tone on his tongue that the photographer quite liked. But, without knowing how, it had gone from amusement to desire, and now, an hour later, it was pure provocation. He could barely control himself, showing more skin than he should, insinuating himself with his eyes, with his mouth, with his hips... Even Carl, who was more of a faggot than a lame pigeon, had felt embarrassed by his attitude. Finally, he ended the session, knowing he wouldn't get any more out of it. Fashion photographs had become more than erotic poses. He had a reputation and preferred to cut on time. Aunt Helen, who had noticed her niece's attitude, advised her to take a long shower before changing and leaving. ―           There is no rush. Relax under the jet – I whisper, pushing her towards the locker room. By the time Katherine reached the spacious bathrooms, she was practically panting. He looked at one of the mirrors, resting his hands on the sink. He looked at her face at pleasure, exquisitely made up. His tongue emerged and licked her painted lips sensually.  ―           You're a bitch, Katherine! – he spat at his reflection. – A horny bitch who would fuck an entire battalion… He breathed calmly, trying to calm himself, and went into one of the dressing rooms, taking off the clothes he had to return. She hung them on the hangers that were there, and looked at her body again, now only wearing panties on top. She smiled as she looked beautiful. Her breasts were medium in size, but sufficient for her slender body. What she was most proud of was her buttocks. She had one of those dreamy butts, pear-shaped, with small, tight, round buttocks; a little ass to never stop caressing. Furthermore, that part, along with her legs, constituted the only parts of her body, free of freckles, with immaculate and smooth skin. His fingers pinched the dark nipples, gently but steadily. They had been stiff almost the entire session, highlighting their length. She knew it. Already at school, she compared them to those of her friends in the showers. She had very long nipples, almost three centimeters long, that looked like small antennas spread over her freckled tits. Very sensitive nipples, which made her melt when he pinched them hard, just as he was doing, at that moment. The second she moaned, she realized that she needed to cum and, for that, there was nothing better than a good splash of water on her clitoris; pressurized hot water. Naked, she left the dressing room and entered one of the individual showers, which had a tiled seat protruding from the wall, right in front of the main jet. This design allowed girls to shave their legs comfortably, and even take a shower sitting down, if they wanted. With trembling fingers, she took some liquid gel and, sitting with her legs spread, spread the soap directly on her vagina. Vulva and clitoris were well impregnated and, as they were already well moistened by their own cum, small soap bubbles immediately began to be produced. Katherine leaned her naked back against the tile mosaic, not caring about its coldness, and closed her eyes, searching in her horny mind for the ideal scene to produce her orgasm. His fingers slid over her shaved pubis, forming small circles that touched her sensitive sex. Each rotary movement was accompanied by a small longing moan, which she had never before exhaled before any lover. Those moans were only reserved for his privacy, for his own and only pleasure, on the few occasions when his libido had gotten out of control like today. Katherine used to enjoy herself in silence. Despite the self-confidence she showed when posing, she was still shy when it came to sentimental matters, and, for her, sex was a feeling. She was ashamed to be listened to like that, as if begging for pleasure. So he tried to clench his teeth and snort, as much as possible, when he reached his climax. With one hand, she spread her labia wide open, exposing her clitoris. With the middle finger of his other hand, he caressed her erogenous zone for a long time, from bottom to top. From the bottom of her vulva to ending on the clitoris. Katherine felt such heat run down her spine, originating in her crotch, that she had to stand up and reach for the water phone. He didn't even wait for the water to reach a suitable temperature. She turned on the faucet and it splashed on her breasts and belly. The cold water cleared his head and cut off the escalation of his senses. He stood with his mouth open, gasping with shock, but immediately a smile stretched his lips. The water began to gush warmer and Katherine twisted one of her nipples, so she had to bite her lip to keep from uttering a loud moan. His body writhed, sitting on the wide support, subject to the whim of his own shifting hips. His pelvis had assumed a will of its own, causing his buttocks to rub shamelessly against the cold surface. She had never felt so bitchy, so horny, so whore, to almost howl with desire. Gently, he inserted his finger inside her vagina, feeling the soft mucosa, looking for her G-spot, despite knowing perfectly well that he wouldn't fully reach it. On her own, she was unable to reach that far inside, but she enjoyed the sensation of trying. Operating the phone with her other hand, she increased the pressure of the jets and arranged them over her clitoris. ―           Godsssss – he hissed. It was a marvel, which increased by moving the finger he had in her vagina more quickly. Her mind searched for an exciting memory, a situation that would lead her to reach orgasm, but, despite having many friends and lovers, her own desire brought her something she did not expect. “Hello, Alma... How are you?” “Like a flower pot planted in this hallway.” “But... do they water you?” “Oh, not as much as I would like…” Alma's smile, her powerful body, her hoarse voice... Deep down, Katherine knew it. He was aware that, in the decisive moments of his life, different women had had the leading voice. She did not trust men for a long-lasting and fulfilling relationship, and it had always been a woman who had guided her through a new stage of her life. It was her aunt who put her in that false and hypocritical world. It was Vanesa who broke his heart, the first time, and, finally, it was Amelie who sold those photos to the tabloids. Men passed, without pain or glory, through Katherine's life. They were only good for a fleeting moment, but women… Ah, that was something else. Now it seemed that it was Alma, the one he had been interested in for a few months. Maybe she was the right one, a simple, hard-working girl, far from the blinding shine of fame and glory. A girl who knew how dangerous that world was, who understood it, but who stood aside. Alma... she wanted to water her a thousand times, with the ichor that surged from her pussy, like a whispering fountain of desire... The pressure increased more. The fine streams of water almost hurt on his sensitive skin. She moaned loudly, knowing that the devastating orgasm she was building was very close. Katherine was a bit special with her pleasure, and since she had discovered that she was multi-orgasmic, she usually gave herself one or two “minor” orgasms that would serve to prepare herself, as an appetizer for the great white whale, that Moby Dick that would pass through her pussy, leaving her exhausted. Surrounded by her own moans, she did not hear the entrance of two companions, who remained still and surprised by her moans, looking at each other. At first, they smiled at each other, enjoying the complicity of listening to the slip of the famous model, an "older sister", but, as the moans increased, as the disjointed words were understood, making their minds imagine what was happening inside the shower, both girls swallowed saliva and squeezed their thighs, overcome by a contagious sexual whim. They pressed themselves against a wall, ears ready and eyes averted. Now, they did not want to see each other, because they were ashamed to show what they felt, to accept their weakness before their partner, but Katherine continued inserting her fingers - now two - and shaking them, almost with devotion, which was equivalent to more sighs and maddening moans. ―           Aaaahh… what a bitch… I am… Damn! Fuck! FUCK! These words encouraged one of the witnesses to pinch her left nipple, forcefully, through her blouse and bra. Her friend looked at her, almost with envy, since she did not dare to make any obscene movement in her presence. Katherine, with her mouth open in a deep sigh, fixed Alma's face in her mind, and pinched her clitoris hard, while changing the jet to the inside of her vagina. This unleashed everything he had accumulated. A long shudder ran through his body and he curled his toes. ―           THE MOTHER WHO… BIRTH ME! I'm... I'm co... RUNNING! – he exclaimed out loud, as a release of all the retained tension. Outside, one of the girls closed her eyes, frowning, and joined her lips as if she were preparing to kiss. Her friend understood the pout perfectly. They were facing such a morbid moment that they didn't know how to respond. Perhaps, if it had been just one of them, they would have succumbed to the temptation of masturbating too. Inside the shower, with a smile on her lips and her eyes closed, Katherine Voliant no longer held back and let out a strong stream of urine, coinciding with the end of the second chained orgasm. Somewhat calmer, she took a quick shower, and left the cabin. There was no one outside anymore, so they left in silence, without even urinating, which was what they came for. Katherine dressed and combed her hair, feeling that the fever had not left her, but now she could think. However, she took advantage of the strong impulse that moved her to, when leaving, invite the pretty receptionist to dinner. Alma was very surprised, but, in the end, she ended up accepting out of curiosity. Sitting in his position, Cristo covered his eyes with one hand, relieved because the situation seemed under control. He promised himself that he would crumble the candy from the lollipops and throw it down the drain as soon as he got home. Damn Spinny!                                                                                 TO BE CONTINUED....