Total Woman Pageants 03

Victor's doorbell rang. He opened to find his latest tutoring subject. She was a brown beauty with shoulder length dreadlocks bound haphazard in a narrow flowered headscarf tied close to her scalp. Dark eyes, dusky smooth face and baggy Reggae clothing completed the look. She handed Victor an envelope and said: "This is my letter of introduction." Victor opened the letter and read:

To: Victor, Senior Pageant Trainer

From: Ms. Smith, Chairwoman, Total Woman Pageants Board of Directors

Subject: Jamie, Contestant for Miss Jamaica

The bearer of this communique is Jamie, the current Miss Jamaica. She is a candidate for this year's Miss Caribbean. She is gifted with intelligence and beauty. She speaks adequate Island English. Total Woman Pageants has been retained by her benefactor to perfect her in every way in order to outclass the competition in the upcoming pageant.

You are at liberty to use any and all means and methods necessary to instill in her the arts and skills demanded both onstage and backstage to win a world class beauty pageant. Please afford her the FULL range of your specialized tutoring. However, if at any time, you find this candidate to be reluctant or recalcitrant, feel free to return her to us without any regret or further obligation. She and her benefactor have been briefed on these terms and conditions and both have agreed in writing.

This Board, her benefactor and especially the pageant judges will truly appreciate your upmost attention to refining her abilities. As always, we thank you for favoring us with your valuable time and labors.

Victor folded the letter and looked over his latest charge. Her bold eyes stared forward, expecting his instructions or dismissal. He stepped out, waved the limousine driver on his way and carried her valises into the studio reception. Returning to the entrance, he ushered the woman inside, closed and locked the door and resigned himself to another long grueling week of work.

Jamie looked around at her accommodations for the coming week. Appearing unimpressed, she eyeballed Victor. He began his usual routine and guided her to the stage for an impromptu interview and once over. She was tall and firm figured, very self-assured by her stature.

"So, Miss Jamaica, why are you here?"

She boldly challenged him. "They told me you would teach me how to win beauty contests."

"And why do you want to win beauty contests? Frankly, you don't seem the type. The women are often shy and meek, needing to build confidence and self-esteem that they think can be gotten through external validation. Look at your stance right now. You look combative. Those are not beauty contest mannerisms. I may just dismiss you now and get it over with."

Jamie's shoulders sagged and her face melted, almost to a sniffle but that was not her style. She held her arms straight down, fists clenched. In between lumps in her throat, her frustrated staccato voice managed to say: "You wouldn't believe how hard and degrading life is for a young woman on the island. There is no gainful employment. Macho Rastafari dudes constantly grab and hit on me, drunken tourists diss' me as a local streggae tramp, expecting me to sell them ganja or cheap casual sex. Winning a beauty contest would be my ticket out, to a larger world where people treat each other with a modicum of dignity. I need your help. Please!"

In all Victor's years, he had not seen such a dichotomy between the image and the substance in a candidate. Inside the rough nugget exterior standing before him was a gemstone screaming to be let out for the world to appreciate. Hell, yes, he would help her. This was a chance of a lifetime for him: his Eliza Doolittle, his My Fair Lady.

Victor offered Jamie a handkerchief. She dried her eyes.

"Jamie, take your things to the guest suite. By the way, what is your talent?"

"I sing reggae. I get some gigs in the clubs when I can. But the audience can be a bit rough."

"Okay, we can work with that. Dinner is at eight. Dress is formal. You will find appropriate clothes in the closet. No more wearing those reggae rags unless we use them as part of your talent routine. Now go along. I'll see you at eight o'clock in the dining room."

At precisely eight o'clock, Victor heard clicking heels approach the dining room. A tall stunning, buxom woman in an ivory white smooth gown turned the corner. Anywhere else he would never have recognized the reggae Jamie that had knocked on his door. Her sheened dreadlocks were coiffed with a silver headband. Her face glowed in perfect makeup. Her white floor length gown draped her like a shroud, split down each side from her swaying hips, revealing shadowy nylon encased legs when she walked. Her boobs jostled adoringly beneath the sheer backless top.

"Jamie, you look fabulous. That is a great choice of dress for your figure."

Jamie smiled shyly. She swashed the tapered fitted skirt panels around with her hands like a young ingénue. Victor the gentleman rose and helped her to be seated. They ate dinner as Victor explained the schedule for the week. Mornings would be spent in exercise and brunch followed by arts and skills training into the afternoon. Late afternoons would be practice Q&A evenings would dwell upon onstage and runway rehearsals.

Victor was conflicted about the usual way he began the week's work. He usually surprised the sleeping young candidate in her room in the middle of the night with a sudden fuck. He believed a woman who readily accepted an unexpected, uninvited and unfamiliar fuck was a woman who would readily accept uninhibited tutoring. If she didn't, she was free to leave.

However, Jamie had shown spunk and Victor, growing older, was concerned for his own safety. He decided a different, straight forward path was justified.

Victor explained to Jamie his usual first night's way of removing barriers to coaching. He knew she had experienced a rougher but more realistic world on the island. He honestly described why he wouldn't surprise fuck her tonight, including his real concern for his own welfare. Instead, he would observe her commitment to his training methods over the first few days. If either of them was dissatisfied with the progress, they could end the training and she would be free to leave or be dismissed as the situation warranted.

Jamie said "I am committed to readily accepting whatever you choose to offer me. I want to show you right now how prepared I am to accept your offerings."

Jamie stood and unclasped the neck strap of her gown. The dress front fluttered down to hang from her waist. Victor almost choked with admiration when her boobs were exposed to his view. They were smooth, round, firm, pointed, just perfect. Jamie gathered her skirt and the fallen top in her arms and knelt at his feet. She opened his zipper. She extracted his cock and rubbed it, keen on getting it to firm up.

Victor used that simmer time to cup her breasts, running his thumbs over the dark areolas and nubs. Jamie rolled her shoulders encouraging his caresses. She smiled up at him, then turned her head down and descended on his firm-enough-to-get-started erection, taking half of it in on the first suck.

Jamie's tongue and cheeks rubbed Victor's rim and crown. She sucked hard and drew the rest of him in. His gasps of pleasure cheered her further efforts. Victor stared down at the silvery headband holding and decorating Jamie's lustrous dreadlocks. The silver stripe moved near and away from his abdomen as Jamie made long slow strokes. It flashed and glimmered when the strokes became rapid. It stopped and crowded his stomach when he erupted deep in her mouth. The silvery band squirmed while Jamie swallowed, drinking his essence and massaging his cock tip in her throat.

When she couldn't get another drop of sperm to emit from his tip, she unsheathed the rod and rubbed it gently, watching Victor's face resume a calm relaxed look. She licked a few final laps and carefully replaced his cock in his pants.

"I hope that shows my commitment but if there is any doubt, I can demonstrate my total commitment again at any time. Just let me know when, where and how."

"I'll keep that in mind."

Victor lay in his own bed that night staring at the ceiling. Jamie had certainly accepted him as her coach. He hoped he was worthy of her faith in him. He went to sleep with a handle on his own firm commitment to her training.

Morning exercises consisted of weights and stretches. Jamie's sky blue spandex maillot hugged her prodigious body. Solid pastel colors loved Jamie. Victor would use that adulation for the swimsuit and gown selections. Brunch, arts and skills classes and even the Q&A were done with Jamie topless. Her dark on dark brown tones mottled any light. Victor hardly noticed her solid pastel thong and heels. Her breasts had just that right combination of firm and liquid motion to keep Victor in constant stimulation.

At evening stage practice, Jamie modeled every gown and swimsuit, swathed in each piece as if was an integral part of her body. Victor would take frequent opportunities to come onstage, reposition her stance, adjust a strap or demonstrate a walk, any opportunity to touch, fondle or handle her. The sessions sooner or later disintegrated into sexual frolics. Victor would remove some, all or none of her clothes, then Jamie would ride his lap in the director's chair, get mounted by him onstage or play with him outside in the hot tub. Jamie was unrelenting and Victor insatiable.

Despite the time lost to interludes, Jamie was quickly improving her beauty pageant capabilities. Naturally sturdy and energetic from a hard physical life, she learned quickly to sublimate those qualities into poise and grace. Victor was amazed by her progress and proud of her many changes and achievements.

At the last afternoon, Victor sat in front of the stage as Jamie selected some background music for her reggae talent practice. She held the microphone and warmed up with bumps and bounces of her body. They had exchanged the droopy reggae outfit she had arrived in for a pastel colored short skirt and midriff-baring braless half tee. As she sang, and sang very well in Victor's opinion, her body jostled beneath the fabrics as she swayed to the beat. The hard life reggae lyrics contrasted pleasantly with the tempting dream that Jamie could whisk your life's troubles away with a wink, a smile and a stroll to her bed, if only for a night.

And that last night with Victor, that is exactly what Jamie did. She used her body to confirm her faith in his capabilities as a coach and teacher, whisking away his doubts. Victor laid back as the lovely Jamie rode him cowgirl, her skin yet again mottling the soft moonlight as she rose and lowered over him, dreadlocks tumbling gaily from atop her silver banded scalp. That first time, when he cried out his passion, she wanted to find in his face the evidence of his pride in her. She found it in the sequence of his grimace, wilt and smile. He palmed her breasts as she lay forward on him.

During his second and third time that night, Jamie didn't see Victor's expression at orgasm. Her face was next to his ear, tongue licking the appendage as she hugged her breasts tightly to his chest; hugging him until she found her own simultaneous ecstasy in his encompassing arms and thumping groin.

Victor awoke. Jamie was still there. She had been watching him sleep. She hated the thought of leaving. But this was a profession relationship. They both knew it had to end this morning. Victor gently pushed her from the bed. She preened in the bath and emerged dressed as she arrived in her droopy reggae clothes. She walked out the door and left Victor with an opening and closing image of a woman hardened by her life style. But in between those times, she had shown him a dream where that woman could whisk your life's troubles away with a wink, a smile and a stroll to her bed, if only for a week.