I'm so full. A deep, probing cock reaches all the way inside of me and pulls out. Painfully slowly. My eyes are closed and I'm savoring every thrust. I run my fingers through my hair and moan softly, approvingly. My mouth opens and I feel hot breath on my lips.
I arch upward for the lips that hover so close to mine and - when met - something is different. I open my eyes and a strange man is on top of me. I reach up for his arms and feel the broad shoulders and muscles flexing. I grip tightly and meet his thrusts, letting him take me. I throw my head back and start to squeeze my pussy tightly around him. He's throbbing. I feel every movement.
My face is hot and I'm about to let go when I open my eyes again and my plane is landing in New York. I sit up and feel my cheeks; red hot. Maggie is sleeping beside me and I try to calm down before she wakes.
The plane slows to a stop and she stirs, smiling at me sleepily.
I touch her cheek, "We're here, baby. We made it,"
She sits up and stretches. We make our way off the plane and over to baggage claim. We stand waiting for our bags an watch the same luggage make the rounds three times.
"What the fuck?" I start to panic.
Maggie puts a hand on my arm and points to a man standing by our suitcases and holding a sign that says my name. My mouth drops open.
The man escorts us to a black SUV and places our things in the back. We ride for a short time and pull up in front of our hotel. It's magnificent. The lobby is pristine and a smaller gentleman runs over to retrieve our bags. The man at the front desk hands me an envelope with my name in gold on the front. It contains our room keys, a room service menu, some hotel rules and guidelines, and another envelope.
As we board the elevator to the 16th floor, Maggie pokes her head out, "Is that Robert Downey Jr.?"
The doors close and when they open again, there is one door in front of us. 1600 is in golden letters on the door and when we open it, Maggie gasps. The room looks over Manhattan with grand, sweeping views. Intricate details down to cherubs on the coffee table are peppered throughout the suite.
Double doors open into a kitchen with granite and stainless steel, and a set of doors on the other side of the room reveal a gigantic bed, a spa-sized tub, and a balcony that is almost as big as my bedroom at home.
I. Am. Stunned.
Maggie is running about opening cabinets and looking off the balcony. She runs and flops on the bed, giggling. I walk to the kitchen for a glass of water and opening the fridge I find bottles of S. Pellegrino water, juices, milk, chilling wine. It's too much. It's far too much.
Maggie runs in behind me and grabs a bottle of wine.
"Don't open that!"
She looks at me in shock, "And why not?"
"Because, Maggie, look at this place,"
She looks around and back at me, "It's beyond,"
"It's way, way, WAY too much. This is either a mistake, or something else is going on. I'll need to speak to Mr. Vaughn before we can enjoy anything in here," Maggie pouts when I take the wine from her and put it back in the fridge.
We stare at each other for a moment and both startle when the old-timey phone rings.
"Hello?" I answer warily.
"Audrey, hello,"
His voice is silky. Soft. His English accent is seductive and sweet.
"I do hope your accommodations are satisfactory," he purrs. I can hear him smiling.
"Mr. Vaughn, everything is lovely,"
"Audrey, please call me Peter. Or Pete, if you prefer. Just never Mr. Vaughn,"
I'm slightly irritated at this extravagant gesture, "OK, Pete, this room is exquisite and I'm quite charmed, but I can't accept all of this,"
"Audrey, I'll make you a deal. If you don't feel you deserve to stay there after a week with me, I'll find you something a little more... quaint. However, I don't think you quite grasp the amount of time you'll have to see my face. You'll barely be spending any time in that exquisite room of yours. Also, it's less than a block from my studio and I'll need you quite close,"
I don't even know what to say. I look to Maggie and she is holding the wine again. I nod at her and she pops it open.
"Audrey, please report to my studio tomorrow at 11am, sharp. We'll go over some of your work, have a lunch, and get down to it,"
"See you then, Pete,"
"And... call me Peter," he hangs up.
Maggie and I find assorted cheeses and meats in the fridge and share a plate with a bottle of wine. We watch the sun set together from the balcony and Maggie makes slow love to me on our giant bed. And in the tub. And in the shower. And on the balcony.
____________________
The phone rings out and wakes me from a very pleasant dream, "Hello?" I answer groggily.
"Ma'am, this is your wake up call,"
I look at the clock, "It's 8 o'clock,"
"Mr. Vaughn's request," the voice says.
"Call him Peter," I mumble, hanging up.
Maggie is sleeping peacefully and I get out of bed carefully. A knock at the door startles me, "Who is it?" I scramble for my plushy hotel robe.
"Room service,"
I open the door and a man pushes a cart into the room and leaves without a word. I lift the silver lids off of the different platters to find fresh fruit, oatmeal, waffle, bacon, sausage... and then a note.
Welcome to New York. You'll need a big breakfast to keep up with me.
P
I shake my head and shove a giant piece of pineapple in my mouth. I glance down and notice chilled beverages sitting in the bottom of the tray. Bloody Mary fixings. Champagne. Orange juice.
"This guy," I laugh and take a sausage link.
"Whoa!" Maggie laughs behind me.
"Courtesy of Peter Vaughn," I wave my hands in front of the giant spread.
"Vaughn sure knows how to treat a lady," she takes a piece of bacon.
Maggie and I snack on the tray for about an hour. Now, what to wear to the first big day. I model some outfits for Maggie, but she prefers me naked.
I find that a pair of dark blue jeans, a white t-shirt, and my pashmina scarf will do nicely. I arrive at Peter's studio at 10 to noon. The outside of the building leaves something to be desired, but once I'm buzzed into the studio, it's a completely different world. Tall white walls splattered with paint here and there. Head shots of beautiful people everywhere. Scantily clad women in makeup chairs. A camera around the neck of everyone who isn't a model.
"Are you lost?"
I turn around to see a tall, thin woman with long brown hair wearing some designer, hands on her hips.
"I'm here to see Peter Vaughn," I say, less coolly than I mean to.
She rolls her eyes, "Peter!" She shouts and walks away.
"Thanks," I fidget with my camera strap.
It occurs to me now that I've never seen what he looks like. A short, stocky man in a suit walks out of an office door and I prepare to shake his hand. He blows past me. A much taller man emerges from the same door. He's wearing jeans with a hole in one knee and a green button down that is open enough to see chest hair.
His hair is salt and pepper and flops over his forehead just above his sparkling blue eyes. I wish that was Peter.
He walks toward me and - feeling shy from being left hanging a moment ago - I stand there like an idiot.
"Audrey," he says with a warm smile. He extends a hand to me and I continue standing there like a complete buffoon.
Finally, I give him a firm hand shake, "Hello, Peter,"
He playfully shakes his hand when I let go, "Quite an iron grip you have there,"
He steps back, looking me up and down, "Why have I never seen you in front of a camera?"
"Huh?"
"Look at you. You're stunning. More lovely than your photos ever told."
"What photos?" I am suddenly back in my body.
"I'm a terrible Googler,"
"You Googled me?"
He laughs an alarmingly cute chuckle and flashes me the whitest crooked-toothed smile I've ever seen. I melt a little.
"Let me show you the studio,"
He takes me through his office to a giant wall of floor to ceiling windows. Women and men parade around nude, photographers shout at models and assistants, and the entire space smells of coffee. We go into the green screen room where a commercial is being filmed. It's all quite glamorous.
"So, all of these people work for you?"
He laughs again. God. "No, no. This studio belongs to me, and people pay me to shoot here. A lot of them rent the space, but some of them do work for me,"
"It's a beautiful space. Stunning,"
"Made only moreso by your presence here. Lets get a bite to eat, shall we?"
Peter and I make our way to a small cafe on the corner and he tells me that he studied in London but never actually finished college. He sent samples of his work to different companies all over the world and in the end, found an investor and built his own company.
VMF quickly became recognized for the consistently fantastic work it turned out and they got into the studio when the getting was good. The rest, he says, is history.
We return to the studio and he briefs me on a couple of projects that need wrapping up before the end of the week. It doesn't seem like enough time, but he makes me feel confident.
We film a woman - the same type I've dealt with many times - in various poses with a giant green cutout that will look like a perfume bottle when it's all said and done. We move on to a man wearing undies. He's got an apple on his head and a woman stands off to the side with a bow and arrow, aiming at his heart and not the apple.
