Charlene's Not So Non-Nude Angels

CHAPTER ONE

"Merde!" Jardin Découpage swore, hitting the End Call button on her phone and fighting the urge to fling it across her hotel room. She stared out of the window at the New York skyline and wondered what she was going to do next.

The call had been from her lawyer and had not brought good news. Her entire business - - the website, the modelling, her appearances on main stream TV - - was all ruined thanks to the financial dealings of her now ex-manager (and ex-boyfriend into the bargain), Frederico.

"Leave everything to me, darling," he'd said on more than one occasion. "You just concentrate on not showing those fantastic tits to anyone except me, and the world will be yours in just a couple of years."

Jardin glanced down at her enormous chest which was currently trying to spread the halves of her dressing down apart. She'd wanted to be a model since she could remember and had followed Frederico's advice to get her breasts enhanced. His twist, though, was to bill her as a non-nude model. Aside from Frederico, the occasional make-up girl or photographer catching a glimpse, no-one had seen her gorgeous, huge mounds naked since the surgeon had put them in place.

And the tactic had been working. Sure, she would appear on the web or in magazines in skimpy lingerie; she did several shoots where the only thing covering her nipples was her hands; but she never went topless, let along totally nude. Her site membership had grown month on month; offers had come in for television slots, not just from her native France but also America. She was becoming a minor celebrity with plans to increase her exposure - - just not to expose more of her.

And now, as one of her English friends would say, it had all gone tits-up.

Frederico was in hiding, wanted by the police of more than one country; almost everything Jardin owned had been seized as either evidence or to pay off taxes; her agent had dropped her like a stone; the only one ringing was her lawyer to tell her how screwed she was.

She glanced at the nightstand where a small photo of Frederico sat; she'd carried it round for years and even the troubles of the last months hadn't made her get rid of it. Now, however - -

"Bâtard," she spat as she picked it up and pulled it from the small frame. She tore it in two and then in half again before opening the window and throwing it outside, the wind catching it and sweeping it away.

"You might not want to do that," a woman said from the doorway to her room. "The littering laws are hell round here."

Jardin spun round and glared at the speaker. She was tall, like Jardin, and beneath the smart business jacket and skirt obviously had a figure to rival Jardin's own. Her blouse must have been tailored specifically to her in order to contain the huge breasts that pushed against it. She was easily good looking enough to be a model as well, her small round glasses not detracting from her features in the slightest. Her hair, a rich auburn, was bundled up on her head with just a couple of loose strands falling down to frame her gorgeous face.

"Who are you?" Jardin said with only the slightest hint of a French accent.

"My name is Charlene Nicholson," the woman said and stepped forward, holding her hand out.

Jardin took it automatically and shuddered, her eyes closing, as a flood of pleasurable feelings soared through her body. Her senses spun, she heard herself gasp as her pussy flooded with juices, her nipples hardening, the feel of them brushing against her gown making her moan slightly. Charlene lay naked on a huge bed while Jardin hunched over her, riding a very life-like strap-on cock, a tool much bigger than any Jardin had had in the past. They reached out and grabbed at each other's big melons, the firm mounds of tit flesh much more than either of them could hope to cover in their hands. Jardin stayed still, letting Charlene thrust her hips, pounding her prick as far as it would go into the model's tight twat.

Jardin stepped back, gasping, opening her eyes, the vision disappearing as she released Charlene's hand but still the feelings remained. She was hornier than she'd ever been! She'd done a few photo shoots with other models and gone so far as hiding the other girl's nipples with her own hands, but they'd never been explicitly sexual. While she could appreciate another good looking woman, she'd never really been attracted to one and yet as Charlene smiled at her, Jardin had to fight the urge to tear her clothes off and enact the vivid, if short, scene that had popped into her head.

"Are you alright, Miss Découpage?" Charlene asked, giving no hint that she knew what Jardin was thinking.

"I'm fine - - fine," Jardin uttered, pulling her robe tighter, biting her bottom lip and stifling a moan as the silk brushed against her super sensitive nipples. "What can I do to - - for you?"

Charlene smiled and reached into her jacket pocket, withdrawing a business card.

"My father, Damian Nicholson, has heard about your recent problems. He owns a large modelling agency and would like to meet with you to discuss getting you back on your feet. He's willing to pay for an all expenses trip to Los Angeles to meet with him, even if you decide not to sign up with our agency."

A free trip to LA would certainly help to put her troubles out of her mind, Jardin thought, reaching for the card. As she took it, Charlene brushed her finger against Jardin's and this time the model did moan, the briefest flash of the pair of them fucking appearing in her mind.

"The details are on the card, Miss Découpage," Charlene said, turning and heading back to the door, Jardin unable to stop herself staring at her pert ass. "I look forward to - - working with you," she said over her shoulder.

Jardin slowly cupped her big tits, loving the feel of the silk against her still hard nipples, and thought of the slim, cylindrical bottle of body scrub in her shower that might be put to better use right now.

† † † † †

"Oh bloody hell," Debbie Romani said, her clipped English accent turning the curse words into a soft grumble of disappointment. She placed the handset of the phone into the cradle and looked out of her hotel window, across the gravel forecourt with the croquet lawn to the left and the tennis court to the right, wondering how everything had gone so wrong.

Just a couple of years before, she'd been the premiere non-nude internet model. Her gorgeous looks came from her mother while her dark hair and slightly olive complexion - - inherited from her Italian father, along with her surname - - had been an almost irresistible mix when coupled with a trim waist, a perfect, round ass and the best surgically enhanced breasts money could buy. Breasts which nobody other than herself had seen naked for years. Sure, the photo-shoots had been sexy, a mix of normal street clothes one week and lingerie the next, but Debbie had never gone topless, let alone nude, despite the massive number of offers.

Her plan had been to make a name for herself then move into acting and it had almost worked. She'd had a few appearances on television but it was all in the background. She'd been on a few British sketch shows, hired to stand there and look pretty while the so-called comedians made lewd remarks about her ample cleavage. She'd auditioned for dozens of commercials but all the casting agents wanted was for her to flash some flesh.

The phone call had been from her agent, or rather ex-agent now. Her refusal to do show more than the merest hint of cleavage had apparently led to her being branded as "difficult to work with" which, her agent said, meant the calls had stopped coming and, as she'd sold the rights to her old modelling work, she was fast approaching bankruptcy. He had to protect his own behind and had dropped her like a stone.

"Bugger it," she said quietly, completely unsure of what to do next.

"Miss Romani?" came a voice from the door of her room. She turned to see a stunning woman standing in the now open doorway, though she was sure she'd closed it. Her business suit struggled bravely to contain the impressive bosom beneath her shirt; her auburn hair caught the sunlight and almost shone red; her gorgeous smile lit up her features.

"Yes?" Debbie answered, suddenly aware that she'd been wandering round in the tiny shorts and top she'd worn to bed. The bottom of her firm butt cheeks were visible from behind and the pale pink cotton of her shirt revealed her deep cleavage, the spaghetti straps straining to hold the shirt in place over her huge jugs.

"My name's Charlene Nicholson," the woman said, stepping into the room, her impressive chest leading the way, her hand held out.

"Pleased to meet you ooooh!" Debbie sighed as their hands touched, a startlingly clear vision suddenly appearing in her mind's eye.

She was on all fours on a huge bed, wearing stockings and a corset that had been torn open, her huge tits swinging free, her head pulled up and back by her hair, her back arching as a result, moaning as she was fucked from behind. Charlene knelt naked behind her, one hand grabbing her hair, the other spanking her round butt as she shoved an incredibly realistic strap-on cock deep into Debbie's pussy over and over. Charlene also wore stockings and a lace bra that had both cups torn free, exposing her own massive mounds of tit-flesh.

Debbie staggered backwards, breaking contact, and sat down on a chair, gasping for breath. Her nipples were incredibly hard, aching to be touched, and nearly poking through her shirt; the crotch of her shorts was damp, her pussy immediately wetter than she'd ever known it and it was all she could do to stop herself from fingering herself there and then.

She'd never been attracted to other women. During her modelling career, she'd appeared alongside other girls but never once let them touch her or vice versa. Yet the sudden vision she'd had of the woman fucking her had her feeling more aroused than she ever had before with any man.

"Are you feeling okay, Miss Romani?" Charlene asked, clearly concerned.

"Yes - - yes - - quite alright," Debbie gasped. "Just a little - - faint. What do you want?"

"Are you sure? I could get you some water," Charlene said.

"No, thank you but - - I'm feeling good - - much better," Debbie said, still trying to stifle the urge to slip something inside herself.

"Okay then," Charlene said. She reached into her jacket pocket and withdrew a business card. "My father, Damian Nicholson, heard you were considering getting back into the modelling business. He owns one of the largest modelling agencies in the States and would love to meet with you to discuss your plans. To tempt you, he's willing to pay for a trip to Los Angeles, all expenses paid of course, to meet with him. If you decide not to sign up with our agency, the trip's still yours."

Charlene leaned forward, holding the card out, and for the briefest moment Debbie thought she was going to slip it into her cleavage. Instead, she placed it on the arm of the chair.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Romani," Charlene said. "You'll find all the details on the card. I do hope you'll agree to - - work with us." She turned and left the room, Debbie watching her pert little ass sway beneath her tight skirt.

She picked up the card and read it, her other hand sliding into her shorts.

† † † † †

"Goddamn fucking retards," Wanda Soldado hissed, slumping into the foldaway chair beneath the shade of an umbrella, pulling her loose silk wrap over her bikini clad body. She was supposed to be doing a photo-shoot on the beach just a few feet away but, yet again, her shoot was being picketed by some religious sect or other that wanted to ban her and other models. Over to one side, her camera man, lighting guy and make-up girl were all arguing with the group of true believers who waved placards and called her names.

It wasn't as if she was even topless - - Wanda had built a healthy career on teasing, never once showing even a hint of nipple. In fact, some had said that her reliance on fully clothed shoots where her cleavage was the main attraction hardly made her an erotic model at all, so why the religious nuts persecuted her she couldn't work out.

At least it had been a healthy career. This was the last shoot she was likely to do if her ex-agent was right. No-one wanted the hassle that this group was bringing with them, including her agent who'd said he had other, less troublesome clients to manage, leaving Wanda looking around for work on her own. It had taken her a month to find someone willing to do this tame bikini shoot and now, no sooner had they set up, the nuts had arrived.

"Fucking assholes," Wanda cursed. All her hopes and dreams had been pinned on being a top model and she knew she had the body for it. Short and slim but curvy in all the right places, she had one thing the other non-nude models didn't. Or rather two things: huge but perfectly, 100% natural tits. Sure, the years of carting them around had started taking their toll and maybe she could do with a lift, but at least they were all her own. Now of course, everything was at risk because of the guys with the placards.

The irony was the main reason Wanda had never gone topless let alone naked was she was a good Catholic girl. Well, mostly. Sure she'd had sex with guys wearing rubbers, but reveal her goods to the world? Never!

"Miss Soldado?" a woman said from behind her.

Wanda stood and turned to see a gorgeous auburn haired woman who looked totally over dressed for the beach and the sun. Despite her tight fitting business suit that clung to her every curve - - including the huge pair of tits that pushed against her shirt - - she didn't look hot or flustered.

"I'm Charlene Nicholson," she said, smiling and holding out her hand.

Wanda automatically reached out and shook it, her eyes closing and a groan escaping her as an image rushed into her mind.

In her mind's eye she saw herself as clear as day, spread-eagled naked on a huge bed, her hands cupping her enormous mounds while between her legs, lifting her hips up to her own, was this woman, Charlene. She too was naked, thrusting what must have been a strap-on cock deep into Wanda's pussy, Charlene's great, round melons moving in time with her thrusts. Even in that briefest of flashes, Wanda couldn't help but notice her own tits were bigger, rounder, more upright and she realised they were fakes! She had huge implants!

Wanda released her hand and stepped back, trying to catch her breath. She glanced down and saw her nipples were rock hard, poking through both her bikini and her wrap, while her panties were almost soaked she was so horny.

"What the fuck?" she gasped, trying to reconcile the sudden appearance of that image in her head. The closest she'd ever come to having sex with a girl was a threesome an ex-boyfriend had tricked her into. He'd got her and a friend drunk and convinced Wanda to let the other girl play with her big tits as he fucked her, but that was all that had happened. She'd never been attracted to other girls and the only shoots she'd done with other models were all fully clothed, not even in bikinis.

"Are you all right, Miss Soldado?" Charlene asked.

"Fuck yeah," Wanda groaned, reaching up and cupping her own tits for a brief second before remembering where she was. "What the hell was that?"

"What was what, Miss Soldado?" Charlene asked.

That image of you fucking me, was what Wanda wanted to say but realised she'd sound as insane as the religious nuts who were still waving their signs and shouting at her.

"Nothing - - nothing," she eventually said. "What do you want?"

"My father is Damian Nicholson. He runs one of the largest modelling agencies in the country and has heard all about the troubles you've been having," Charlene said, nodding her head towards the protestors. "He'd love to meet up and offer you the chance to get your career back on track. If you'd like to, we can offer a free, all-in trip up to LA which is yours even if you decide not to sign up with us."

Charlene reached into her pocket and took out a card, handing it over to Wanda. Their fingers brushed against each other and for a split second Wanda again saw the image of herself being fucked by this woman, the image of her own new, fake breasts clear in her mind.

"Details are all on the card, Miss Soldado," Charlene said before turning and walking away. She stopped and looked over her shoulder. "I hope you'll - - come - - and see us," she said before walking off.

Wanda slumped back in the chair and found herself thinking of the large dildo in her bedroom, cursing the fact it would take her hours to get back home.

† † † † †

Charlene stepped into her office, taking her jacket off and throwing it on to the sofa to one side. She sat in the chair at her desk, switching on the large screen monitor and then the PC to the side. As the machine booted up, she undid the first few buttons of her shirt, the sides almost springing apart in relief, her huge tits relaxing a little more in their still constrictive bra, her cleavage deep and inviting. She pulled her hair free of the clips, letting it tumble down past her shoulders.

With the machine up and running, she quickly opened up a particular piece of software and entered user and password details, smiling at the thought of what anyone else would think if they knew what this was capable of. A few moments later, a window opened on the monitor showing the silhouette of a man sat in a chair. The only part of him that was clearly visible was his hands, the dark, almost red skin and his jet black nails incongruous with his neat suit sleeves.

"Charlene," he said, his voice dark and rich. "How did it go?"

"All according to plan, father," Charlene said. "I met all three of them and gave them our details along with a little - - taster - - of things to come."

"Excellent. Do you think they'll all arrive?"

"We can't be a hundred percent, of course, what with their damned free will, but I think so, yes," She paused for a moment. "I think Soldado might be our biggest problem. She's Catholic, as you know."

Damian Nicholson's silhouette nodded. "True, but we've never really had much difficulty with the church in the past. They're all so repressed once they get a taste of it they're putty in our hands. Still, it's worth bearing in mind. Well done, I'm very pleased."

"Thank you, father," Charlene said, bowing her head.

"I'll speak to you soon," he said and the window went dark.

Charlene closed the program down and turned instead to her pictures folder, opening up a slideshow that displayed pictures of the three women she'd recently met. They slowly moved from one to another, showing Jardin Découpage in a bikini, then Debbie Romani in lingerie, then Wanda Soldado in a tight T-shirt, then Jardin again, then Debbie, then Wanda, over and over.

Charlene unbuttoned her shirt completely then undid the clasp at the front of her bra, her enormous mounds filling her hands, her nipples hard and dark. She lifted one up, bending her neck so she could lick and suck at her own nipple before doing the same with the other, leaving a trail of saliva across her firm yet pliant orbs.

She quickly pulled her skirt up and placed her feet wide apart on the edge of the desk, running her fingers across the sopping material of her thin panties, gasping as she felt the heat and moisture of her pussy. Her fingers eased the silk aside and easily slipped inside the wet folds of her twat while she continued to grope and maul at her tits with her other hand.

Staring at the screen the whole time, watching the procession of big titted, non-nude models on the monitor, Charlene shuddered and moaned as she brought herself to orgasm, thinking of how good it would feel to be doing this with Jardin.