The Francisco Seven [multiple celebrities] [complete]

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“So what’s so important that we had to get in here first thing in the morning?” Kristen Bell asked Jessica.

“We’ve finally gotten a break in the Mitra case,” Jessica answered. “Tell ‘em, BJ.”

“We got ourselves a witness,” Tammin told them, managing to put on enough of her professional face to hide the joy she was feeling at being the centre of attention for reasons related to her job for once. “She used to work at the Spectacular-“

“Lemme guess, a waitress?” Kristen interrupted.

“She was one of the strippers, all right?” Tammin headed her off with. “Her name’s Victoria Justice, and she was one of the regular girls who our friend Rhona Mitra had some fun with. She got in touch with me just after we got back from LA-“

“Why you?” Kristen interrupted.

“Do that again and I’ll make you eat Rebel Wilson’s ass until she screams,” Jessica chided the agent. “Go on, BJ.”

“Anyway,” Tammin continued, enjoying the look of absolute disgust on Kristen’s face, “Victoria’s seen Rhona hanging around with like this all-star squad of California’s Most Wanted - Carol Vorderman, Beyonce Knowles, Oprah Winfrey, Stephanie Seymour, Kris Jenner… the girl’s had to get up close and personal with some of them herself, because Rhona likes to make her staff ‘available.’”

“With WINFREY?!” Kristen groaned. “Poor kid.”

“She may have seen them together, but that’s not enough by itself,” Beverley said.

“Is fucking young women enough?” Tammin asked. “Because Victoria’s had front row for Rhona and some of her cronies pulling that as well. More than once – apparently Mitra likes it when people watch, especially if they look like Victoria.”

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“So? That’s not a crime,” Kristen pointed out.

“It is when the girls aren’t even 15,” Tammin replied quietly.

“Whoa,” the blonde said. “Did NOT know she swung that way.”

“She swings all ways,” Tammin said. “And one more thing… Victoria has a feeling she saw Rhona have someone killed.”

“No way!” Beverley cried.

“Yes way. Victoria had had a session with Mitra and another of the women called Charisma Carpenter, and she heard Rhona talking on the phone with someone – Victoria thinks she was called Julianne. Anyway, Rhona told her to take care of this person called Tracy Mills.”

“Tracy Mills…” Jessica mused. “That name rings a bell.”

“She was the one in line for warden at Remy Hadley,” Kristen said. “The one who took a dive off the Golden Gate. Guess we know now it wasn’t jump or fall, more like push.”

“This is still all hearsay,” Beverley protested. “You haven’t got any real proof.”

“But we’ve got somewhere to start looking now,” Jessica replied. “Does she know any of these girls’ names? The ones Rhona was babyfucking?”

“Yeah, she’s got some,” Tammin said.

“We’ll have to get her down here so we can get the whole story,” Jessica continued.

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“Already taken care of,” the agent replied with a warm smile. “Victoria Justice is in the city right now… she’s staying with me until we can get her to testify. Girl wants Rhona Mitra taken down even more than Kristen does.”

“As of now, your place will be under 24-hour surveillance,” Jessica said, picking up her phone. “Can you trust her not to go anywhere, or should I have someone staying with her when you’re not there?”

“Victoria trusts me like she doesn’t trust her old boss,” said the agent. “She’ll stick around.”

“If she’s staying with you she must REALLY trust you,” Kristen laughed. “She pretty?”

“She gorgeous,” Tammin replied, hoping she wasn’t sounding too enthusiastic.

* * * * * * * * * *

“You gotta hand it to BJ,” Kristen told Beverley a few moments after Jessica had shooed them all out. “Thinking that trip to LA got us nothing but some more Frequent Flyer miles and all the time she was getting us a little crack in Rhona’s suit of armour. Almost proud of her.”

“Don’t worry, your secret’s safe with me,” Beverley replied.

“Before you dash, I got something I wanna ask you,” Kristen continued.

“Gotta keep,” her colleague replied. “Nature calls…”

Watching her race to the ladies’ room, Kristen chuckled. Serve her right for not draining before she left home.

Safely ensconced in the stall, Beverley plucked her cellphone from her top…

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“And you can’t volunteer to be Miss Justice’s part-time guard?” Rhona Mitra asked once she’d been apprised of recent developments.

“I’m too busy around here,” Beverley said. “Besides, BJ already doesn’t trust me.”

“Your trust issues with her are of less importance than that little tart not wrecking my life,” Rhona replied icily. “Deal with her.”

“I can find a way,” Beverley assured her.

“And if you have to get rid of Agent Sursok…”

“I hope it’ll come to that,” Beverley said. “I got the boss around my little finger and on her back, but if BJ keeps snooping around someone’ll start taking her seriously one day.”

“Why do you keep calling her BJ?” Rhona asked.

“Short for Blow Job Lips,” the agent replied, keeping herself from adding “I keep telling you this.”

“However you handle it, try to make it look like an accident. I’m sure you can do that.”

“It might not have to be,” Beverley suggested thoughtfully. “Scared witness, in a house with a gun… she and BJ argue, Victoria goes for the gun… and then she’s all ‘What have I done?’ and turns it on herself.”

The line was silent for a few moments, but Beverley knew better than to hang up.

“Yes,” Rhona replied. “Yes, that would work. An emotionally fragile young woman in a situation like this, coupled with a pressured FBI agent she’s involved with…”

“Plus she’s a stripper. And you know what they’re like,” Beverley laughed.

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If she could have seen Rhona, she’d have been rewarded with a little knowing smile.

* * * * * * * * * *

With Kristen Bell’s card in one hand, Jessica Alba stood by the phone in her living room – all she had to do was pick it up and call.

What was stopping her was the content of the simple brown envelope she had in her other hand. Normally not getting any bills was a good thing, but today she’d have swapped what she’d found by her door for a Final Demand – it was a simple brown envelope, with nothing inside but a signed picture of her sister. It had been taken when sis was leaving work to get home to her husband and children, and it had not been signed by the picture’s subject; whoever had taken it had written “Not a word” on the glossy print.

Jessica knew from the second she saw it what this was about. Had it been a threat to her own life it would have been one thing, but going after her family was something else… she was a brave woman, but she did NOT want to drag the people she loved into this. Slowly she crumpled Kristen’s card up.

“Good girl,” the woman who’d dropped off the envelope - Julie Bowen -  said amiably. “I knew you’d see sense.”

“Just leave them alone,” Jessica said dully.

“Of course we will,” her fellow guard smiled. “You can count on it… now.”

* * * * * * * * * *

House rules, Emma Roberts reflected. She hadn’t even interrupted Rhona Mitra that time, and now here she was not being able to do anything but look at Hannah Davis.

Twenty minutes before, a dark-haired woman with large breasts on a small frame – she’d brought Emma her dinner the night before and called herself Emily Ratajkowski – had given the safecracker an injection

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of something just as she woke up. Whatever it was, at least it wasn’t an air bubble; Emily had assured her that it was just to keep her quiet, because Mistress Rhona wanted her at rest for this.

Emma wasn’t so much at rest as at not being able to move, and “this” had turned out to be Hannah Davis several feet away from her bed, stark naked and on her knees. That in itself could and should have been fun, except that Hannah was being fondled by Rhona’s ladyfriend – though fondling was an understatement for what Rosie Huntington-Whiteley was doing, since she was down on her knees with her face buried deep inside Hannah’s ass, her tongue licking away on the woman’s quim beneath as her fingers probed Hannah’s flesh. Rosie was clearly loving herself some fruit from the U.S. Virgin Islands.

The safecracker’s eyes rested on Hannah’s nipples, rock hard and erect with all the loving Rosie was giving her – Emma was so jealous of Rosie right now, and she was wishing that she could give Hannah some action like that. Emma took her eyes on a tour of Hannah’s body, from her lovely little face and its piercing green eyes, down her lithe form to her legs. Even the scars she had on them didn’t ruin it…

The scars. Emma stared at those scars running along the top of Hannah’s left thigh; her uniforms had kept them out of sight but now there they were. Kind of like the one Emma had on her butt, but longer – and in a row, as if someone had…

She tried to tell herself that Rosie or Rhona hadn’t had anything to do with them, that Hannah had just had some kind of accident with a rake or something. She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t more like the visions that were suddenly filling her head, visions of Hannah being at Rosie’s mercy – Hannah being whipped, Hannah having pliers on her breasts, Hannah being forced to put things in her holes that she didn’t want there…

Hannah’s sighs and groans built up as Rosie began to kiss her way up the woman’s back, taking her own sweet time about it and pressing her small rack onto Hannah’s flesh.  When she reached the shoulderblades, Rosie turned to look at her audience.

“You’re lucky Roni doesn’t want me to play with her,” the English blonde giggled. “Not right now, anyway. Otherwise I’d have brought my special toys.”

Ever since Olivia Wilde had told them the story of how she’d been put in prison, Emma had never forgotten what Rosie meant by “playing.” The thought of that monster being turned loose on sweet little Hannah would, in a perfect world, have been enough to wipe out the drugs in her system – in THIS world, however, all she could do was watch Rosie kiss Hannah’s neck, before her nurse turned her face to look at Rosie and kiss her on the lips, tongue and everything as if she really wanted to do it.

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Rosie’s left hand strayed down Hannah’s body to between her legs, where she made a fist and rested it on the other woman’s pussy. Then she slowly extended its middle finger, sinking it deep inside Hannah while her free hand felt around the floor searching for the one toy she had brought with her. Emma could see the sizeable dildo a few inches away, and had it been someone she actually liked rather than Rosie she’d have shouted “Colder! Colder! Warmer! WARMER! YEAH, BOILING HOT!” to guide the Huntington-Whiteley fingers on their journey.

Hannah’s hands rested on Rosie’s small jugs, squeezing them.

“C’mon, Hannah,” Rosie breathed, sliding her finger out to the middle knuckle and moving it back in again as her thumb found Hannah’s clit. “You can do it harder than that… you know how I like it.”

Rosie knew that Hannah actually couldn’t do it harder than that what with her having all the brute force of a particularly drowsy snail, but it was fun to feel her try. And it was even more fun to feel her digit inside this lovely Caribbean girl – no wonder she was so hot all the time. Looking into Hannah’s eyes and giving her love button a good flick and rub, Rosie found that dildo – out of her line of vision, but she knew which direction it was pointing.

With Hannah’s gorgeous cunt otherwise occupied, Rosie slipped the dildo into her mouth and gave it the blowjob treatment, working it around her tongue and fitting most of it inside until it was thoroughly lubed up. Then, still fingering the US Virgin babe, Rosie moved the dildo behind Hannah and positioned it on the cleft of her ass. Rosie kissed Hannah as she started to push it up her behind, slowly and steadily sliding it into her.

“Ooooohhh….” Hannah gasped from the dual assault, before she gave Rosie a little lovebite on her left breast as the willowy blonde started to move away from her. Hannah kissed Rosie’s chest, bending forward and moving further south as the other woman kept her fingers around Hannah’s crotch for as long as she could be comfortable, all the while with Rosie’s other hand inserting the dildo up Hannah.

Within moments Hannah was bent to an angle bringing her in line with Rosie’s pussy; as her tongue started savouring her box, Rosie was bent over herself above Hannah’s back, her boobs hanging down and brushing the flesh as she rested one hand on a buttcheek and the other on the dildo, thrusting it as far into Hannah’s behind as it could go. They made for a good circuit – Rosie’s little gasps as Hannah licked her out matching Miss Davis’s cries as she was sodomized, which drove her to eat Rosie further with each stroke, every thrust being a little more urgent than the last. Rosie shoved it harder and faster, driving through Hannah’s asshole like an engine and leaving little kisses on the small of her back as she listened to the other woman’s rising moans and cries.

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Clutching Rosie’s legs, Hannah eagerly sucked and tasted her snatch while flooding Rosie with compliments. “Oh Rosie, this is SO sweet… I could eat this all day… and that feels so good… so, SOOOOO goooooOOOOODDDDDDDDDDDDDD….!!!!” Hannah forgot all about speaking as she felt herself reaching the heights – this fine English pussy plus the way she was getting fucked meant she had to come now… she couldn’t wait any longer…

All it took was one more stroke, and Hannah howled into Rosie’s pussy as the joy filled her body. She almost drew blood from gripping Rosie’s legs so hard, and the feel of two solid nipples on her back wasn’t helping… except it kind of was. Hannah quaked underneath Rosie as the Englishwoman pulled the dildo out of her gaping back door with a satisfied sigh, letting Hannah slowly come back up and rest against Rosie. Emma’s snatch was almost as soaked as Hannah’s; she wanted to do some of those things to Hannah Davis herself. Damn those drugs…

“Are you feeling better now?” Rosie asked the patient, one arm around the hyperventilating Hannah.

“Yeah, until you showed up,” Emma replied, not letting on how jealous she was.

“My fame precedes me,” the Englishwoman giggled. “I’ve got to change for your friend down the hall... Hannah, Paula’ll arrive shortly to take up where I left off. You haven’t met Paula Patton yet, have you? You’ll like her.”

“When am I going to get to join in…?” Emma asked.

“When you agree to join us outside the bedroom,” Rosie replied. “Until then, you can look all you want but Hannah’s beautiful body will be off limits to you. Direct orders from Roni.”

Emma shifted her gaze to Hannah, who – fucked as she had been into submission – could do nothing but nod. But as Rosie walked up to her bed, Emma noticed with no small touch of relief that Hannah’s eyes were showing exactly how she really felt.

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Then she couldn’t see Hannah’s eyes, because the willowy English blonde rolled the supine Emma onto her front. Lying there, unable to do anything, she rolled her eyes as Rosie took in her bare behind, resting the palm of a hand on it.

“I could have so much fun with this now, if you just agreed to play along,” Rosie sighed. “Hannah has a nice one as well, doesn’t she?”

Rosie wielded the dildo that had been previously inside Hannah, and ran it along Emma’s ass cleft as the bedridden young woman resigned herself to being ruthlessly cornholed. She instinctively gritted her teeth to keep from yelling when Rosie pushed it in…

Except it didn’t happen. Rosie tapped Emma’s butt with it before resting it by her snatch; she couldn’t help but feel relieved. Yes, she knew where that had been just now, but if Rosie was going to give it to her that way she didn’t mind in the slightest. If only it had been Hannah behind her right now… Emma waited for the first strokes to light her up.

“Say yes and you’ll get all you want and more from Hannah,” Rosie cooed as if reading her mind. “But not until then.”

Damn. The girl really was a sadist.

“I do hope you say yes,” Rosie finished. “I’d hate for Roni to have to set up another accident.” Bending down, she kissed Emma’s ass before she turned and left the room, Hannah watching the prisoner sympathetically.

It had only been a light touch, but those last few words left Emma feeling as if Rosie had just hit her with a demolition ball.

* * * * * * * * * *                                           
Unlike Emma Roberts, Megan Fox had never been able to get enough if any sleep for however long she’d been in this room. It seemed like someone was always in there, putting clamps on her tits or playing with her snatch – tying her down at all hours of the day or night. The only time she ever got a break was when she got to shower, and even then someone was always with her.

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The weird thing was, that someone was always Rosie Huntington-Whiteley. While a small part of her was impressed that someone so skinny was so inexhaustible, most of Megan was on the verge of begging her to stop. And not in the way a masochist stopped by bringing her just to the edge of pleasure and then pulling back to keep her from coming… although Rosie, damn her, did that as well.

And now here was Megan, disorientated and sweaty, up in the air and completely naked. She was hanging from ropes and cords attached to the ceiling, and she could hear a clacking sound coming down from the hallway. Megan knew who would be coming in – that English girl again, ready for some more fun…

The door was pushed open and Rosie entered, dressed as if she was about to go on a steeplechase. With her skintight trousers and  black sleeveless jacket over a white shirt, Miss Huntington-Whiteley certainly looked the part - but Megan knew from the look on her face that the only filly she had any interest in riding that morning was Megan Denise Fox. And that nasty-looking riding crop she was holding in one hand would be leaving its mark on her legs, her chest, possibly even her cunt.

In her other hand Rosie was carrying a vibrator, which Megan knew from experience she wouldn’t mind stuffing into one of her own orifices before inserting it into Miss Fox. And the girl always knew just when to pull it out, to leave her practically begging for more just so she could finally have some relief. Rosie kept her eyes on the captive as she walked across the floor, noting how the bonds had Megan’s legs apart so she could see EVERYTHING.

Wielding the crop, Rosie flicked it upwards, having the tip touch Megan’s button. It wasn’t there long enough to cause any pain, but Megan had a feeling that was about to change.

“C’mon, Megan… you can’t fight it forever,” Rosie whispered. “You want some of me, don’t you? Don’t be shy, you know you do.”

“No… I….” Megan said in between gasps.

“Yes, you do. I know you do. They all do. Just play along,” the blonde said, stroking Megan’s thighs with the crop. “Such a pretty filly… we could have so much fun together…”

Rosie switched on the vibrator, bringing the whirring device up towards Megan’s face.

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“You work with this… and I’ll work with this,” Rosie added, indicating the crop.

Feeling the crop on her flesh, Megan reflected that she may have had difficulty telling David Cameron from David Blaine, but one thing Rosie knew was sex. And she was right – they could have fun together. Megan might even get to come once in a while, or more than once. But she’d have to be cut down first.

And as the vibrator moved towards the brunette, she knew there was only one way any of this would end…

 “ALRIGHT, ALRIGHT!” Megan screamed. “I’LL TELL YOU WHERE THEY ARE!”
* * * * * * * * * *
It came as no surprise to Troian Bellisario that a realtor would live in a house most people couldn’t afford. Two-level, not exactly sprawling but a LONG way from a hovel – she almost expected a butler to answer the door when she pressed the doorbell. Or at least a maid.
“Who is it?”
“Troian Bellisario from Channel 5,” she said into the speaker. “We spoke earlier…”
“Oh, yes.” The door buzzed, and Troian entered to find her stereotypes confirmed – this woman lived damn well from all the houses she’d sold. No marble staircases, thankfully, but plenty of expensive-looking shit around; a lot of beautiful works of art. And the most beautiful of all was walking towards her; if women could get erections, Troian’s would have been poking right out of her trousers. Monica Bellucci was THAT gorgeous.
“Thank you for taking the time to see me,” the young woman said as she tried to not be distracted by the Italian’s swaying hips.
“The pleasure’s all mine,” Monica replied, shaking Troian’s hand. “I must admit I’m glad Ariana isn’t here tonight.”
“Is she your daughter?” Troian asked, and immediately kicked herself mentally. For all she knew Monica was the kind of woman who hit the roof at any suggestion she was that old.
“No, she’s my wife,” said Miss Bellucci with a smile. “She can get very angry at any mention of the San Francisco Eight. That’s why I haven’t told her about this.”
“This” was the Channel 5 story which Troian had approached her about a few days prior; with the gang back in the news again after the breakout the channel was doing a story on those who were peripherally involved and how their lives had changed, and Monica had agreed to be involved. Prior to her coming into the studio a little pre-interview had been set up, which was where Troian came in.

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“Would you like something to drink before we start?” asked Monica.
“I’ll have whatever you want to have,” Troian replied. “I’m easy.”
“I have to admit I would not have expected you to be the one doing this,” the older woman added as she went to her drinks cabinet. “You being involved with one of the gang, after all.”
Troian, her eyes firmly fixed on Monica’s ass, kept herself from telling the woman that Hayden was not really part of the gang.
“When you mentioned your wife you sounded a little nervous,” Troian said.
“To tell you the truth, Ariana can be… oppressive sometimes,” Monica admitted, turning to the young woman with their drinks. “Especially when I’m around other women.”
“Is that her there?” asked Troian, indicating a framed picture on the mantelpiece.
“It is indeed.”
“She’s a cutie – you both have good taste.”
“Yes, but I learned early that the more attractive anyone around me is, the more uptight she can get. That… is another reason I’m glad she isn’t here.”
Troian did not miss Monica’s eyes glancing downwards – the dress she was wearing stopped above her knees, but she hadn’t intended to spend the day showing off her legs.
“Yes, she isn’t here now…” she said, before giving Monica the impression that she was snapping out of it. “We’ll just go through a few questions, then I can set the real thing up. And if you feel uneasy at any time, just say the word and we’ll end it right here.”
Monica sipped at her drink as Troian made herself comfortable in her chair. “I can handle this,” the realtor assured her. “It helps that you’re Italian, Miss Bellisario.”
“Thank you,” said Troian with a smile.
“My pleasure,” Monica replied, her eyes glancing down again. This time they stayed down a little longer, and Troian hadn’t even crossed her legs; when Monica looked up she saw Troian looking right back at her.
“Si può fare di più che guardare se volete,” the young woman told her, smile perfectly intact.
Monica drained her drink faster than she had planned to; being told she could do more than just look at Troian’s legs had done that to her.
“I can tell you want to,” Troian continued. “Relieve any pressure you might have about the interview… or something.”
“I would be lying if I said I didn’t,” Monica admitted. “But I happen to be married.”
“Happily married?” Troian asked gently. “Ariana sounds like the controlling type.”
“She can be difficult.”

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“I’m not,” Troian said. “Go on… I won’t tell her.”
Monica flashed back to that party she and Ariana had attended last year – the hostess was a wide-eyed thing called Emma Stone, who Monica had warmed to. It was just a friendly little kiss goodnight, not even on the lips… but Ariana had shot daggers at her and been a silent icicle all the way home. And that was just one kiss, not even romantic (unless Ariana’s family had some weird tradition where the facial cheeks were the most enticing part of the body). What Ariana would say if she could see what was happening now didn’t bear thinking about… but she couldn’t see what was happening now. Nor would she ever, since even someone as controlling as her didn’t leave cameras hidden all over the place.
And Ariana wouldn’t be back for hours.
Monica set aside her drink and knelt down in front of Troian, scanning the young woman’s slim stems. Troian uncrossed them, the better for Monica to rest her hands on her thighs – and to look up her dress, which Monica couldn’t help doing. As her hands moved along the flesh, Monica had to admit she was a little disappointed to see that Troian was wearing panties… but then again, if she’d gone without it could have suggested she’d planned this all along.
Monica stroked Miss Bellisario’s legs all the way down and then up, savouring every inch as she stopped just short of Troian’s panties.
“You don’t have to stop…” Troian said huskily.
“I don’t want to,” Monica replied. “But I want you to… return the favour.” The older woman started to lift her dress up, exposing more and more of her pins.
“Damn…” Troian couldn’t help saying on seeing Monica’s fantastic legs, and found herself on her knees in front of her a little faster than she had planned.
Troian slipped her fingers under the edge of Monica’s panties. A huge, contented smile spread across her face when her fingertips felt the jungle within; she liked a neat pussy, but there was nothing wrong with running your fingers through a lovely silky snatch. Especially when what it was covering was so warm and moist. And as for the thighs on each side… Troian tried to keep from licking her lips.
“Perhaps we should continue this upstairs,” Monica suggested as Troian kissed her thighs, her fingertips moving further underneath the fabric.
“Will it taste better there?” Troian giggled.
“It might. It would certainly be more comfortable,” the realtor replied.
“When in Rome…” the younger woman laughed, getting up as Monica rose, slinking up the stairs like  a cat. Getting the animal metaphor completely wrong, Troian eagerly followed like a puppy, her eyes fixed on Monica’s rump swaying beneath her dress. She couldn’t resist giving it a little pat.
Monica turned back and smiled at her. “You can keep it on there,” she said. “I like it when people pay attention there as well as... you know.”
Thinking about Monica’s cleavage as she resumed stroking her ass, Troian knew. The woman’s butt was so soft and firm that she wouldn’t have minded if these stairs went on forever, instead of cutting off as

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they arrived on the upper floor, Troian following her hostess into the bedroom. Still, at least she had Monica’s unquestionably long, deep asscleft to look forward to.
Troian quickly emptied her dress pockets, dumping her cellphone, wallet and keys on the bedside table before pulling her dress over her head. She loved what she could see when the fabric was off her eyes; Monica was already down to her underwear. Even when she was offduty she was thinking of an audience; the woman had a very lacy bra failing to hide her matured rack and a thong. She had to be nearly 50 and she was rocking the thong… Troian paused in her undressing to watch Monica slip off her bra, counting her blessings as the woman unleashed her breasts before sliding the thong down her legs.
“Wow,” she said quietly, lost in admiration of Monica as the older woman walked towards her. Troian felt her heart beating faster as Monica undid her brassiere and slipped it down her body, her fingers on Troian’s flesh down to the edge of her panties; as their breasts touched, Troian tingled.
She kissed Monica as the latter’s fingers hooked Troian’s panties, including them in the journey down as Monica eyed the young woman’s trim, sleek form.
“I have to suck on these babies…” Troian whispered.
“Age before beauty,” Monica countered, nipping on Troian’s jugs as she moved down, her hands caressing the young woman’s thighs.
Licking her stomach, Monica couldn’t help comparing Troian’s stems to Ariana’s… long and slim, just like her beloved’s. In fact, that had been the first thing she’d noticed about Ariana when they’d met at that restaurant.
She had been in a bad place, having had a horrible day at work and been blown off by the woman she was supposed to be meeting. As the waiter left her table with her latest drink request, Monica reflected that no one was THIS late without doing it on purpose…
“Who’s the jerk?”
Monica snapped out of her thoughts to turn to the off-duty waitress at the next table. A very beautiful woman… woman? She looked more like a girl, with that angelic face, those huge brown eyes and a sweet little smile. On the other hand, the long legs she was sporting from the slip of a dress she had on couldn’t belong to a girl. At least, not anyone with parents who let her out of the house like that. Unless they were really liberal parents…
“C’mon, miss. Who stood you up?” the girl (WOMAN!) said amiably. “I’ve been there, I know what it’s like.”
“Well… she used to be a good friend…”
“I had a good friend like that once,” she replied. “Turned out to be the kind who loved and leaved.”
“At your age?” Monica said sympathetically.
“Yeah,” she replied as the waiter approached, carrying the customer’s drink. “I started out young... oh, Jim? That one’s on me.”
“No, that’s fine,” Monica said hastily.

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“Don’t worry about it,” the waitress said airily. “I like buying drinks for ones like you.”
“Ones like me?” Monica repeated, trying not to be flattered. “You do realise that I’m—“
“Age never bothered me,” the girl – woman! – replied casually. “Plus I always liked older women.”
Monica Bellucci considered telling her that she didn’t like younger women – but she had been brought up never to lie.
Several drinks later, they had exchanged names and numbers; one thing led to another, and then the night came when Monica picked up Ariana after work. Monica expected to have to gently break her in, maybe even get a little nervous squeal as the girl tried something new; Ariana put up a good front, but Monica suspected that it was just that – a front.
To Monica’s complete surprise and delight, it turned out that despite her tender years and her not being old enough to drink, Ariana HAD done something like this before; not only had Ariana Grande known she preferred girls since she was old enough to walk, but underneath that innocent face was the soul of the devil. Monica had thought she could take rough stuff, but Ariana had wound up riding the older woman for hours.
To onlookers, including their families, their subsequent relationship was a cougar/kitten thing helped along by their impressive age (and height) difference. To Monica, Ariana was the one in charge behind the doors; she adored being with this lovely young woman, and would have gone to the ends of the earth for her. The trouble was, Ariana knew it and didn’t hesitate to use it against her if necessary – she had even taken to withholding her body from Monica if anything went even the slightest little bit wrong. Though Ariana could be very caring, she could also be very controlling – which is why Monica had never even dared to think about anyone else when Ariana was around. Nor had she dared to entertain anyone in their home.
Until now.
Monica dabbed at Troian’s snatch as she fondled the young woman’s legs. She was so warm and tight there; Monica would have sucked on this box till the end of time if she had her way. As she licked inside and moved her hands around to touch her tight behind, she felt Troian’s fingers running over her head lovingly.
The woman rose, taking Troian by the hand, and led her to the bed. Monica was clearly expected Troian to climb onto it, so she could pick up where she left off; she even expected to feel one of Troian’s hands on her body en route as if she couldn’t wait.
What she hadn’t expected, but certainly didn’t mind, was for Troian to sharply push her forward to fall face first onto the bed and land on her thighs before Monica could get up. Or for Troian to plunge her face right into Monica’s ass, clutching the cheeks and thrusting her tongue deep inside the hole between them. Man, this was some good eating… Troian licked and flicked around Monica’s rear entrance while happily stroking, pinching and squeezing the flesh and taking a few moments out to kiss it as well.
“Honestly, I could do this all day…” Troian moaned, nipping it with her teeth. “So good…”
“You can finish my culo off later…” Monica breathed. “Respect… your elders…”