Delivering the Virgin(29)

     



 

So my sister and I are estranged now, after Jake broke off our engagement to be with his baby mama.

"I can't believe this is happening," I spat to my mom. "This is so fucked up, what kind of sister does this to you?"

My mom looked at me reprovingly. I guess since she's known me since  birth, she knows how vengeful and spiteful I can be on occasion. But  this was an instance where it was deserved. I swear, my twin ran off  with my man, how messed up is that?

"Jenna," she said gently. "You're beautiful but surely you can see how  much Jake and Tina love each other. Maybe you were there first, but the  heart wants what it wants, and Jake wants Tina."

This wasn't helpful at all.

"Whose side are you on, Mom?" I screeched. "I did nothing wrong! It was  all her! Tina makes herself out to be such a goody two-shoes but inside,  she's dirty and corrupt, she'd do anything to get her way."

My mom only sighed.

"Jenna, maybe you should take a closer look at yourself," she advised.  "Just because you're pretty doesn't mean that life is going to be easy."

"Is that a warning?" I'd sneered. "Shit happens Mom, I know, but this was really beyond the pale."

"Take another look at yourself," my mom urged. "Work on yourself first,  really look inside and figure out what you want, what will make you  happy. And don't throw stones if you live in a house of glass."

Whatever. These platitudes and old sayings were too much to bear, they  just made people feel worse without actually being helpful.

"Fine Mom, I will," I said shortly, ending the conversation. But my mind  had already turned to other things because right now, I just needed  money. I'd been living on Jake's largesse for the past couple months,  reveling in a luxurious lifestyle and clearly that was over. But I  couldn't bear going back to being a penniless grad student either, so I  began calling around.

I'd seen an ad in the student paper for a modeling gig a few days back,  and I knew I was photogenic. Maybe I'd check that out, it'd beat being a  teaching assistant or some waitress job for sure.

"Hi, I'm inquiring about the modeling job I saw in Craigslist," I dialed  the number. "The one where the girls promote a premium craft beer?"

"Oh right," said the disembodied voice on the other end. "Are you five two and Latina?"

"Not exactly," I said slowly. "I'm blonde and five nine."

"Then no can-do," said the voice. "Premia Modela is geared to the Latino market, we're only looking for girls with spice."

Um, okay, they could have said that in the ad. But if the WASP look  wasn't what you were looking for, then fine, I'd move on. After a couple  more calls, I finally got a bite.

"Hi, I'm calling about the modeling ad in the paper," I said in a  clipped voice, my temper short. "The one that pays two hundred per  hour," I said emphatically.

This whole process had been far more annoying than I thought. You'd  think that being blonde and hot would open plenty of doors, but that  hadn't been the case with these gigs so far.

"Oh right," said the silky voice in response. "And may I ask your cup size please?"

Cup size? They asked this stuff straight off the bat? But I had nothing to hide.

"Double Ds," I said shortly. "Not natural." I really wasn't holding back on the nastiness.

"And height and weight?" she positively purred.

"Five nine and one twenty," I snapped. "Listen, should I come in or  what? You're not going to get anywhere with stats, I could be a wretched  hag for all you know."

The voice wasn't perturbed by my rude behavior. "Of course, honey," the  woman said sweetly. "Why don't you come by tomorrow at 11 a.m.? It's 243  Divisadero Street. Bring two bikinis," she added. "One in black and one  in red."

"Wait, I didn't know I had to provide the clothes," I shot back, but it  was too late. The woman had hung up and I was stuck going to the mall  later today. WTF? I thought models sold outfits, not supplied them. But  it was too late now, and two hundred dollars per hour was cash that I  desperately needed.         

     



 





CHAPTER THREE


Jenna




I showed up at Divisadero Street, looking around dumbfounded. There were  only warehouses here, nothing to indicate a professional photography  studio or anything artistic. Instead, it was clearly an industrial area,  everything grey, from the sky to the asphalt, the faceless buildings  grimy and dirty. Oh god.

I found the bell to number 243 and rang the buzzer, the electric squawk  making me jump. Chilled, I rubbed my arms, hunching my shoulders against  the cold San Francisco wind.

After a pause, after which I can only assume I was surveyed by the  camera in the corner, the door clicked and I was able to shoulder the  steel-reinforced door open. There was a steep, narrow staircase going  upwards and I tiredly hoisted my bag over my shoulder, trudging  upstairs.

The truth is I've been studying out of boredom and necessity. I'd been  cribbing off of Tina before and obviously, that wasn't an option anymore  given our contentious relationship. Plus the girls I'd always thought  of my "friends" at law school were curiously dismissive.

"Oh yeah, your bridal shower, I'm so sorry to hear about that," said  Courtney from my contract law class. "Is there anything we can do to  help?"

"Well, I'd love to be taken out to dinner," I'd hinted. "It'd mean a lot  to me." I'd just been publicly shamed with the break-up of my  engagement, and I was hoping some girls would band together and take me  out, make me feel like a princess.

But Courtney was curiously evasive.

"I'm sorry Jenna, I'm just so busy," she said. "Henry's got exams too,  we're both trying to cram before things really get hectic."

That made no sense to me. She'd had time to come to my bridal shower but  had no time for a regular dinner? Plus she hated Henry, she was always  begging me to set her up with one of Jake's millionaire friends.

But I guess once I didn't have the Jake connection, Courtney's hopes of  marrying rich had gone up in flames and she saw no reason to invest in  our friendship anymore. She'd hemmed and hawed some more and I'd let it  go because there was nothing else to be said. She clearly wasn't  interested in hanging out unless I had a hook-up to wealthy dudes.

Sadly, that's how it was with a lot of my so-called friends. They  disappeared like smoke once my broken engagement became widely known,  giving the most random excuses and not returning calls.

And so I ended up studying instead, making the most of my time alone. I  could have gone on the prowl immediately, started looking for another  man, but my reputation was already damaged enough. It's not every day  your sister steals your billionaire fiancé out from under your nose, and  even I recognized that a break was needed to let the drama dispel  before I started up hot and heavy with a new guy.

But studying doesn't pay money and so here I was, lugging my bag to this  modeling gig or whatever it was. Given the dingy surroundings, things  didn't bode well.

Finally at the top of the stairs was another steel-reinforced door, this  one just as heavy and imposing. However, as soon as I reached to knock I  heard the lock click open, surveillance cameras whirring towards me  once again.

I pushed open the massive steel and was greeted by a wave of warmth.  Thank god, it was chilly and I was shivering, so the humid heat was a  welcome respite. There were blinding lights and I put up a hand to  shield my face. Holy shit, those were Krieg lights blasting a bright,  white glare onto everything on the stark floor space.

And inside, multiple cars were parked, how they'd gotten them up onto  the second level, I have no idea. Lambos, Ferraris, Maseratis, you name  them, they were all there. The staff was there too  …  photographers,  assistants, make-up people, and  …  costumers, if you could call them  that.

Because the models were barely dressed, some altogether nude except for  stripper heels. They sprawled across the vehicles, posing provocatively,  and there was even one redhead straddling the door to a fire-red sports  car, grinding against it, letting her bare pussy do the talking as she  moaned for the crew, cameras flashing.

Was that moisture I saw on the leather? Sure enough, the redhead was  turned on, her pussy spilling its wet secrets onto the pebbled material.         

     



 

Holy cow  …  did they expect this of me too?





CHAPTER FOUR


Jenna




"You must be Jenna," purred a melodious female voice. "I'm Deborah." I  turned, more in shock than anything else. A middle-aged brunette strode  confidently towards me, perfectly groomed in an elegant but sexy black  suit, her hair swept up into a chignon. She was fully dressed, thank  god.

"Yes, that's me," I stammered, looking down at my feet. It was unlike me  to be shy, but then again I'm not confronted with rampant nudity all  the time.