"Barbie Does Britain"
by J.D. Savanyu
May 23
rd
, 1967
Barbie Carson touched down at Heathrow airport on Pan Am flight 385, starting her new life without Ken with a two-week vacation in Swingin' London. She strolled through the terminal with a suitcase full of high fashion, wearing a pink glittery mini-skirt and a pink baby-doll shirt with dozens of silver stars framing two golden words: ROCK STAR. Dozens of englishmen recognized the famous American model from various magazines. They all stared at her gleaming blonde hair, big blue eyes, perky tits, itty-bitty waistline, and amazing heart-shaped ass. A mob of paparazzi swarmed the celebrity at the end of the terminal, eager to get a cover-worthy shot of "America's Doll Girl."
"Bahr-bee! Bahr-bee! Hey luv, let's see those hot pearly whites!" some guy shouted with a cockney accent. She flashed him a sexy grin while batting her long lashes and tossing her shiny golden bangs for the strobe-flashing cameras.
"Cheers, Barbie. You're twice as lovely in person," beamed a female paparazette with a lighter English accent.
"I don't let my beauty define me, darling. I can be anything!"
"
Sure
you can," replied another man with unmasked sarcasm. "Say, why did you break up with Ken? You seemed so happy together, always cheering him on at his football games."
"We were happy for a while, but that quarterback was too macho for me. I'm trying some British guys this week, because they seem really damn chivalrous on TV. I mean, the
telly.
"
A fancy town car was waiting for Barbie in the loading zone. She sank into the plush leather seats, and the driver raced down a divided highway, flooring it all the way to the heart of London while the AM radio blared "Kind of a Drag" by The Buckinghams. Barbie gazed out the window at hundreds of young hippies strolling the sidewalks in the West End theater district. Many sexy women flaunted fab mod fashion statements, with psychedelic Jetson stripes and leopard skin pillbox hats. She was planning to bring those groovy styles back to Hollywood, and get even more famous.
Barbie was looking forward to twelve wild days and twelve wilder nights in London town, hitting the trendy Soho night clubs and getting over Ken by getting under some random blokes. But first she had to do a big photoshoot for Vogue UK. The driver took her to a Victorian studio loft in Soho with a great view of Big Ben. She met Peter Palance, a cutting-edge fashionista, and "Twiggy" Hornby, Britain's top model. Twiggy was an androgynously charming brunette sprite with a pixie hairdo and three layers of false eyelashes, wearing a silky white romper dress that nicely accentuated her small tits and streamlined body. Everything the rebellious Baby Boomer chicks wanted to be.
"Oh my
gawd!
" Twiggy raved while admiring Barbie's ROCK STAR outfit. "You're so fucking hot, Barbie!"
"Mick Jagger would drag you off to a backstage orgy before you even knew what hit you," Peter added warmly.
"Sure, sure. Beauty is a blessing and a curse," Barbie giggled. "Let's can the bloody chit-chat and get down to business."
"Yes ma'am, Miss Carson," Peter chortled. He set up a high-end Hasselblad camera on a tripod while Barbie and Twiggy got naked behind a classical Japanese dressing screen. They admired their hot bare bodies with playful grins, and slithered into a pair of skimpy skin-tight latex body suits that symbolized the "British Invasion" that was started by The Beatles. Barbie's body suit was decorated with a vertical American flag, while Twiggy's had a vertical British flag.
"All hail the queen, and Miss American Pie!" Peter proclaimed as they stepped around the screen. He posed the models against a groovy tie-dye backdrop, pushing and pulling on their arms and legs, twisting them about like the living dolls they were. He went over to a record player and put on "To Sir With Love" by Lulu, then he went to the camera and treated it like a mechanical extension of his penis.
"Lower those pretty eyelashes halfway, Barbie," he ordered smoothly. "Now open your mouth a couple centimeters.
Oooh
yeah, that's the slutty look they all love. Come on Twiggy, swing those hot hips toward the camera. Make those lonely guys hungry for your body. Holy shit, you're the sexiest girls I ever saw. This mag is gonna sell millions of copies on both sides of the pond. You're gonna bust so many bollocks, and make a million pounds apiece!"
Barbie was genuinely turned on by Peter's chauvinistic fashionista act. The more sleazy remarks he made, the more she wanted to be his submissive girl-toy, just like she was for Ken. She made love to the camera while getting fucked hard in her mind.
His camera finally stopped flashing, and the models assumed more natural poses. "Great job, girls. I'll develop this roll of film as soon as you leave, then I'll schlepp it right over to the chief editor of Vogue."
Barbie was eager to hit the town, but she was horny enough right now. A cleverly naughty idea popped into her ditzy head.
"Hey Peter, I was wondering if you could take some more pictures of me for a...
different
magazine."
"Like what? Vanity Fair?"
"No. More like... Penthouse."
Twiggy and Peter burst out laughing.
"Seriously?" Twiggy giggled.
"Penthouse?"
"Yeah. Seriously.
Penthouse."
"
I love reading that 'magazine,' darling," Peter replied.
"Me too. Their left-wing political columns are really enlightening," Twiggy added sarcastically.
"Fuck politics," Barbie grunted with a sly grin. "Let's get naked, and drive those losers even crazier."
"Damn, Bahr-bie, you're a true American capitalist," Peter remarked.
"I'm also in a wild mood, and I also love money, so why the hell not?" Twiggy giggled. "Let's bust even more bollocks."
"Batters up!" Peter beamed. He put a fresh roll of film in the camera as the ladies slithered out of their jumpsuits, with nothing underneath.
"Holy fuck," he groaned comically as the patriotic latex hit the floor. "I'm so glad I flunked out of Oxford med school."
Barbie struck another sexy pose in the well-lit studio, touching her hair with one hand, wobbling her hips to the right, and cupping her extended right hip with her other hand. Skinny Twiggy mirrored that pose with a left-leaning wobble, and Peter blasted away with the Swiss camera.
"Oh shit, that's so hot. Arch your backs to make your tits look bigger.
Oooh
yeah, I love those toned sexy abs when they're flexed out like that. You're getting my willy real hard, ladies."
Indeed, an impressive bulge pressed against his blue khakis, making Barbie even hornier.
"Spread your legs a little.
There
you go. Show 'em what you got, sweeties."
He stepped closer for tight shots of their tits and twats. Barbie squeezed her big perky honkers, and spread her cunt lips.
"God damn, I love it when girls show pink for me. Bob Guccione doesn't allow that in Penthouse, but it's about time for a muff revolution!"
Barbie got a special thrill out of giving men exactly what they wanted, whenever they wanted it. (But that wasn't enough for Ken, and he didn't show enough gratitude.) She wanted to fuck Peter so bad, but she embraced Twiggy instead, smooshing her large breasts into her small breasts while leering sidelong at the camera.
"Damn, Barbie, I never suspected you loved the ladies. Cheers to that, luv!" he chortled while snapping more shots. "Kiss that crazy Yankee, Twiggy."
She kissed Barbie lightly while the flashbulb kept popping. Twiggy pulled back with a sheepish grin, then Barbie pulled her right back and french-kissed her hard while caressing her soft slender back. She squeezed her ass cheeks with both hands, and Twiggy squeezed her ass harder. Peter took the camera off the tripod and circled around to photograph the smooching supermodels from every angle, until he finally ran out of film.
"All right, that's enough shots to blow millions of loads," Peter remarked while putting the camera back on the tripod. "You ladies can get dressed now, and hit the town in this fab weather."
They ignored the flamboyant fashionista and kept making out like there weren't no tomorrow. Moaning heavily under their breath and grinding their bodies together like slithering serpents.
