Monique St. Pierre was standing before the elegantly etched mirror; she was topless. Her plump rear was visible under the sheer blank lingerie she tugged up so as to stretch the flimsy fabric over each cheek accentuating their tight round shape. She looked at her bottom as she shook it playfully at the glass.
Miss November turned around and looked at her creamy, pear shaped breasts. The areolas were bright red and the nipples pink and firm. Her eyes, deep brown and mysteriously almond shaped, blinked seductively at the glass and she ran her delicate pink tongue over her parting lips.
"Hold it," the assistant AD called out.
The photographer stopped shooting and Monique stood up straight and peered out at the crew. She could not see much beyond the glare of the spotlights. She sensed the shadowy shape of a crowd gathering around the photographer. She could hear voices talking urgently; she sat down on the elaborate silver couch and crossed her arms demurely over her scrumptious breasts.
It seems that some celebrity had arranged to visit the fancy department store at the same time Playboy had arranged to shoot part of Monique's Playmate of the Year layout.
The lovely centerfold sat patiently when a familiar figure stepped over into the lights and sat next to her. Monique gulped realizing that she was sitting next to Barbra Streisand.
"You're..." she managed to gasp.
"Yes, I am. And you are?" Barbra held her hand out to shake.
Monique put out her hand while shyly keeping her bosom covered with the other arm. "I'm Monique, Monique St. Pierre. And Miss Streisand, may I say.."
"Call me, Barbra, please," the singer interrupted, still holding Monique's slender hand; it was moistening with sweat. "Monique St. Pierre? Sounds French. You don't look French, sweet heart."
"I'm German, actually.' The beautiful playmate's white skin was turning a sexy bright pink as she blushed in front of the celebrity.
Barbra was used this sort of reaction and soon put the pretty young girl at ease. In fact, the two sat there and chatted, making a peculiar picture for the waiting crew. Monique was completely naked except for the black lingerie barely covering her hips and black mesh stockings with high heels.
In their private conversation which the crew couldn't hear, Barbra asked Monique to do a special favor for her, an outrageous favor, and amazingly Monique agreed.
This is the story of that favor.
Later that night Monique stood nude in front of another mirror. She was in a large bedroom in a mansion in Malibu. The full moon glowed over the dark ocean filling the bedroom with a deep blue light. The soft glistening highlighted the silky sheen of her straight blonde hair framing the flawless features of her face. Every curve of her warm and supple body was etched in the soft blue light as if the man in moon were kissing her all over.
With slow and languid gestures Monique began to dress. She tugged some white sheer stockings up her athletic legs; her smooth skin glowed against the silky sheen. The white panties were silk too. Monique loved the feel of cool silk against her warm moist flesh. Even now her thighs got pretty little goosebumps as she slipped the flimsy lingerie up her legs; it barely concealed her full dark bush and her round plump bottom.
The cool white silk chemise made her nipples jut out. Then she pulled the silk white dress over her head. She stepped into black pumps and twirled in the mirror. The short skirt lifted up and showed her rear nicely.
She descended the stairs looking like a model on a runway, or a beautiful star stepping up for an Academy award, or maybe she looked like the most dazzling concubine descending the palace stairs to be ravaged by the king.
Monique had been waiting anxiously in the singer's mansion in Malibu. She was alone in the house waiting for a certain eighteen year old man to show up; he was the son of Barbra Streisand's chiropractor. Barbra couldn't do without her chiropractor; the chiropractor's son had a problem, and Monique was here to solve that problem and she had the run of Barbra mansion to do it in.
As instructed the son had let himself into the mansion and it's when Monique heard him enter that she had gotten dressed. Now she locked her eyes on him as she wriggled sexily down the stairs.
What she saw was a man complete bamboozled. He looked younger than his years and very shy. He was slim and tall and extremely nervous. Monique was nervous too; she wasn't sure she should be doing this.
What he saw was a siren gliding towards him with golden blonde hair falling straight to her soft shoulders where it gently curved up to accent her long and luscious throat. Her ruby red lips were parted ever so slightly with ends turned up just barely, but revealing the delight she felt in seeing him. Her eyes though, her eyes... They were dark, almost black but they smoldered and gleamed with life, yet they were soft and gentle, questioning and hoping. Their slight almond shape gave her the air of exotic mystery but the warmth of her rosy cheeks and her soft smile were so inviting.
"Aunt Barbra ... I mean Barb-- No, Miss, Miss, Ms, right, MS Streisand sent me over to meet you here. Miss ... No.... Nov... No! Miss St. St. Miss St. Pierre! She said..."
She stopped his chatter by gently laying fingers across his mouth. "You are a cute one, aren't you?" She smiled, noticing his washed and combed hair, crisp clean clothes, a hint of cologne. "Won't you sit down? And please, call me Monique."
He audibly gulped, but bravely returned her smile as she removed her hand. He said, "I..,I..,I'd love to."
She brought him a Coke and sat him on the couch.
"I am attractive, yes?" she laughed with a mock French accent.
She did a pirouette for him and virtually answered her own question with the display of her gorgeous figure.
"Y...yes...." he got out in a croaking voice.
"And you like my outfit, my hair?" She flashed a camera ready smile.
Monique let out a delightful laugh as she sat next to him on the couch. She took his hand. "Now, let's get to know each other."
They made simple conversation until he began to relax and open up (eventually he stopped stuttering). They discovered a shared love for Chinese food, college basketball, Fleetwood Mac and Stevie Wonder. They liked the same jokes, same movies, and many of the same books.
Monique was enjoying herself immensely. She flirted just a bit; she didn't want to make him too uncomfortable but she did notice he kept eyeing her long legs.
As she brought Ben another drink he suddenly jumped to his feet.
"I'm sorry, Miss St. Pierre, I mean, Monique. I can't believe how long I've stayed. I probably should go."
She stood as well. "Ben," she said. "I'm having a wonderful time." Placing her hand carefully on his arm, she met his eyes. "Please stay." Her heartbeat quickened, and his cheeks flushed slightly as her hand traveled slowly from forearm to bicep.
Stamping down the little voice in her head that yammered what are you doing? she stepped closer to her young guest. He was taller, so she had to look up in order to see his face.
"I'm very glad you're here." She said, caressing both his arms. He stood stock-still, a bit nervous, but she could easily see he was incredibly aroused.
"Do you know what I'm thinking about you right now?"
Attempting to find his voice, he rasped, "What?"
"I'm imagining you. Touching me." She lifted her slender hand to her pear shaped breast." Here."
He couldn't help licking his lips.
Monique continued in a soft voice, "And here, " she said, pressing her flat belly. "And here." Her hand was between her legs. "I'm imagining you upstairs. In bed. With me."
And then she stepped into his arms. Leaning up, she gently kissed the corner of his mouth, again and again, and then took little nibbles until she reached the center of his lips.
He wrapped his arms around her, crushing her to him; she unashamedly pressed herself against his body. Her softness yielded to his hardness as they kissed with increasing passion. When she slid her tongue into his mouth his body shook just a bit.
She pulled back and softly inquired, "Ben, you've never done this before, is that right?"
To his credit, he shook his head, smiling slightly, "No. No, I haven't."
She leaned in again, gently nipped on his neck, and her hands grew busy on his jeans. Undone, unzipped, his legs trembled slightly as she carefully tugged them free.
"You don't wear underwear?" She asked, amused.
"W-what? Oh!" He opened his mouth to speak but found her tongue there instead. Still kissing him she managed to unbutton his shirt; he pulled it off quickly, tossing behind him. She let her hands travel down his naked back, stopping at his ass. Cupping his firm cheeks with both hands she delighted in his groans.
She let her hands follow as she slowly pushed the jeans down his muscular legs. Leaving them tangled at his ankles; she felt herself flush with desire at the sight of his lean body. His erection was solid, pointing almost to his belly, and she smiled as she carefully handled his hot flesh.
Playfully kissing his mouth, chin, neck, she slowly shimmied her way down his hard body. She teased his nipples, licked his navel, and lower still, as his skin jumped excitedly at her touch.
"Monique?"
"Shhhh."
On her pretty knees now, she looked up at him, smiling, brown eyes warm.
"I've been looking forward to this all night." She glanced at his throbbing shaft and then back up at him. Again he sank into those mysterious glimmering pools of light. "I'm going to have you, my sweet boy. In my mouth. But I want you to let yourself go. It's OK, it's good to do it in my mouth right away this time. Will you do it, my love?"
Ignoring his gasp, she gently engulfed his rigid cock in her warm, wet mouth.
She bobbed her head a few times, and then began to suck him with increasing vigor. He was so hard, so young, she knew it wouldn't be long; he was already thrusting uncontrollably into her mouth. She grabbed his ass cheeks and pulled, throating him deeply. He gripped her hair while moaning, grunting, and sliding his thickness in and out.
