Carabia's Adventure

Carabia's Adventure by MaxMon They say it's not that easy for a pretty girl to find a quality date because the decent guys think you are way out of their league. I imagine they must be the same group of guys who think a beautiful woman is probably an airhead, like big breasts, a pretty face and a tight ass somehow reduces the prospect of intelligence. In both respects, they are full of shit. I've met a lot of real nice guys who were down to earth students at college. They understood I am more than someone who is just good to ogle over. I mean, you don't have to be some kind of macho pretty-boy to win me over. I do have certain standards, but if you are at least average looking I will most certainly hear you out and, if impressed, I'd go out with you. Perhaps that's one reason why those close to me think of me as smart; I take even greater pride in my judgment than I do my exceptional good looks. I know it sounds like I am full of shit myself, but since I've received quite a few offers to model, well, I doubt they'd be interested in me otherwise. Since I've already made myself out to be arrogant, I may as well try to describe my appearance before I tell you about what I did. I'm pretty tall- five-ten- and I look a lot like my mother, who you would recognize because she was a leading fashion model who had graced the pages of hundreds of publications, including Playboy. I have her full lips and perky nose, her high cheekbones and her captivating eyes, blue as the Caribbean, which is why she named me Carabia. My natural blonde hair has gotten long (down to my waist) and it's my belief that it is sacrosanct to change the color of your hair, or to receive any form of plastic surgery. It's just wrong, to try to enhance beauty through such superficial means. Mom taught me well to this effect. My complexion is comparable to most 24 year old white girls living in the mid-west, perhaps a bit pale since it is winter and I don't get enough sun. I don't like to wear much makeup ether; I really don't think I need much to look good, even when I am dressing for a night on the town. Mom said I could have become a great fashion model myself if it were for one thing: my breasts are too large. She was so upset with me at sixteen, when I out-grew her, like I had anything to do with making my tits large. She had such high aspirations for me, that I would follow in her footsteps, but the clothes designers of today set their standards with knowing precision, and I was not going to be the exception. I have done a few facial and bikini shoots, but my auditions for modeling fashion have fallen short; they see my extremely firm bust-line standing out in front of my lean figure and, well, they tell me that I'm too 'unique' to catch the interest of the average woman, that I distract from their clothing. Yes, my 38D boobs cut off any potential I had for conventional modeling long ago. Most of my previous boyfriends, when I was dating, some said they especially liked my ass and others my big tits. As for me, I'd go with my breasts as my best feature, since they are so round and well proportioned. They are real sensitive, too. Also, my nipples stick out about a half-inch from my aureola even when I'm not aroused, which is nice because I can lick them myself. I shave my pussy regularly and, from what a college girlfriend said who knows of such things, it is a 'perfectly shaped flower of divinity.' So, up till earlier this year I worked as a greeter at a top-end restaurant near OSU. I'd smile and e****t them to their tables, making sure to offer compliments along the way. The customer feedback cards always give me high marks, with such comments like they think I am 'elegant and enchanting.' One card that raised a good laugh said, 'Built like a brick shit-house!' You'd be amazed at how many f****y men come back for lunch without their families, thinking I might take interest in them, but my manager loves me for that very reason; I keep bringing them back in. Anyway, about three months ago I seated two gentlemen who were dressed in real expensive suits, who were not the average type of patron. I could tell they were well-educated business leaders of some sort. The tall one- come to find his name is Rodger- must have noticed me because on their way out he handed me his card and asked me to call him in regard to a job opportunity. He said that I was 'too much of a knockout' to be serving as a receptionist. You can imagine that I get a stack of cards every day, which I turn into my manager who uses them for marketing programs, but this one was different and I put it in my pocket. Rodger’s card said he was Vice-President of Manwin Corporation. Their logo resembled two mountains that formed the letter M. I e-mailed my mother, who was good at researching this kind of thing. She called me back and told me that they were an international information technology firm, specializing in "highly trafficked websites." I asked, "What kind of websites?" "Well, Carabia, a whole slew of them. They own a lot of other companies, too. From what I could gather, they have over a thousand employees and are based in Luxembourg. Yes, they also have an office in Canada with the address you gave me." "So, why do you think they had an interest in me?" I asked. "Sweetheart, you are so beautiful and smart. Now, how could any man not take interest in you?" I replied, "Mom, can you tell me what kind of websites? Do they do fortune-500 work or something?" While she worked, we caught up on what was happening with each other. She found what she was looking for and said, "They own most of the adult entertainment sites on the Internet, including a popular site called Brazzers." She sent me a link to the site and it was hardcore porn all the way. While I was looking over the site, I asked, "What, do you think, they want to make a porn star out of me or something?" Then, Mom said something that surprised me. "Well, darling, with your looks and figure, you'd be a shoe-in. That is, if you have interest in such things and possessed those sexual skill sets. You do know I've done some nude modeling, so there really isn't that much difference, the way I look at it. But I got lucky with a great manager and didn't go down that road... too far. Shortly thereafter I met your father." My mom was appraising my potential as a porno-star! I couldn't believe it. I mean, I had no idea she even knew porn existed, and since we never talked about it I assumed she was repulsed by the sex industry. It got me curious about her take on the subject, especially after that last comment. I asked, "My skill sets are just fine, thanks, but from what I just heard between the lines is that you think I'd be good at it? Don't you find that repulsive?" I was still in shock, thinking I didn't know my mother as well as I thought. She was quiet for a moment, so I continued, "Mom, have you ever contemplated doing porn in your early career?" She said in a matter-of-fact way, "Well, a girl has to eat you know." "What? Are you k**ding me? I can't believe you considered doing porn, Mom. I mean, I know you aren't a prude, but it just doesn't seem like you to do something like that." "It was before I met your father. I did two short movies when I was in college and I wore a mask in both of them, so not a sole ever knew it was me. To be totally honest with you, the experience put me in touch with a few influential people who then jump-started my career, of all things." I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Mom did a few pornos! Wholly shit! I was flabbergasted. "Mom, there is this whole other side of you I don't know about. Why didn't you tell me about this?" "I didn't want you to get the wrong idea, Sweetheart. I didn't want to get into this conversation, but since you were approached by this company, I felt it important to share it with you. I mean, what ever you choose to do is fine by me, and I will never be judgmental of you, just as I don't expect you will be judgmental over the things I did in my past, is all. I'd still love you." Well, this was a real twist for me. I wasn't sure what it was she was counseling me to do. Somewhat baffled, I asked, "Mom, do you think I should call this guy to see what he wants of me?" "That's up to you. What I am saying is that porn is big business now and it pays well. I know a few casual friends who got into working with a few of the studios for a while. The thing is the shelf-life of a model in that industry is about three years or so; they burn you out and then no more work comes in. My one friend, Sheila, went to work dancing in strip clubs after her ship sailed." "What kind of money are we talking about?" "I'm really not sure, but I'd guess with your looks you could get maybe twenty-grand for doing a full-length movie," she said. "No fucking way! That sounds too good to be true. Are you just k**ding with me? What would Dad and the rest of the f****y think?" "Well, Sweetheart, I doubt they'd care. I mean, we all live such busy lives. I'm sure your father would be supportive of what ever you choose to do, as he always is. As for your b*****r, well, who knows. Anyway, it can't hurt to give them a call and feel them out. Maybe, it's about a job somewhere else in their company? Who knows." The following day I called Roger and caught him on his cell phone. He sounded glad to take my call and told me that he was 'taken back' by my 'good looks and enchanting demeanor.' Roger went on to say I was exceptionally beautiful, that his company did own many of the largest adult websites and they were constantly looking for new talent. He added that his role in the company was operations, that he was not a recruiter. Rather, he supervised the managers of the websites along with the infrastructure to keep the wheels turning for the North American offices. He added that he most certainly could arrange an audition, and asked if I had a portfolio. I told him that my portfolio was dated, that I didn't have any nude photographs of myself. He gave me the name of a photographer in Columbus near OSU who would shoot me and bill his company. I expressed my concern about copyrights, that I wanted all the negatives, etc, to which he quelled my anxiety. So, I made an appointment with his associate, thinking there was no sense talking money until he had a chance to review my... assets. The shoot went well and the photographer, Jack, was real warm to work with. I brought a few sexy outfits and we did a few strip-naked sequences that were quite explicit. Jack asked me to take my own measurements while he shot the process. I have a perfect 38-24-36 inch body. I also did a mock blow-job on a dildo for him, which was fun. But I drew the line at insertion, though. That was something they would have to pay me for doing, if I decided to go through with it. He also asked me to fill out a pretty long questionnaire about my sexuality and what I was willing to do. Since I am open-minded, I figured I'd do just about anything if the money was good enough. The following day I received a call from Roger and an associate of his named Paul. They said that they liked my shoot and wanted me to fly to Canada to meet with them. But I wanted to talk money first. They gave me the old song and dance about potential and how much money I could earn, but they only offered me 3 grand. Paul, who worked for Brazzers, said, "Even a beautiful starlet your age could bring in 200 grand with ten to twenty shoots a month, depending on how well they do." I was not impressed. Besides, he insulted me with the insinuation that 24 was old. WTF? I am in fantastic shape. I told both of them I wanted to earn at least 20 grand for one picture, that I would agree to a five day shoot, up to five scenes, if they flew me in and I had veto as to who I'd work with. It didn't fly. At best, they said they'd give me 5 grand for one shoot lasting 8 hrs or so, which really wasn't worth it to me. I mean, all the exposure and potential limitations to any future earnings from conventional modeling, etc. So, we were so far apart I didn't expect anything would come of it. Thing was, I had no desire to get into stripping and the porno world. It all seemed pretty sleazy from where I stood. I subscribed to Brazzers before deciding to go in for a photo shoot and from what I could see, most of the actors were pretty poor and the scripted scenario stuff seemed so disingenuous it totally made the interaction void of true passion. Try as they may, their shoots screamed of a production studio looking for high-volume with little concern for their employees or their patrons. It kind of reminded me of the early movies released from Hollywood, where they would crank out tons of low-budget flicks that were pretty crappy. Some things never change, I guess. A few days later I received another call from Roger, who said another one of their studios wanted to talk with me. We scheduled a Skype conference with his boss, Fabian something or other, for the following week. When I logged on, I was surprised to see there were three different feeds (LA, Montreal and Van Nuys CA) with a total of ten people in our meeting. Apparently, Roger was so impressed by me he made a few calls and learned that I was the daughter of a well known supermodel, which sparked greater interest. To make a long conference call short, the guy, Fabian, who owns the companies wanted to cut a deal, so he agreed to pay me 25 grand, pending how well I preformed on camera. He also agreed to a tentative plan for subsequent shoots that would earn me over 100 grand for about twenty-five days of work spread out over six months, if it all worked out that way. So, I agreed to do what he referred to as a 'pilot' for a feature length movie, with a stipulation being regardless they'd pay me 4 grand just to do the shoot even if they didn't want to pick up the option. Also, either side could renege on the agreement and the pilot would never get released. If it all worked out, I'd do four more scenes after which I'd receive a check for twenty-one-thousand American dollars! I kept my fingers crossed. They flew me into LA the following month for the one-day shoot. I was to do one scene with a handsome hometown-looking stud named Chris. I'd seen a few pornos in my day, so I kind of knew what to expect and I didn't bother to check him out. I was no virgin prude, but I'd only been with maybe ten guys and three girls- certainly never on camera with a crew hanging out on some sound stage. I had stage fright the night before the trip. I knew I would settle down once I got there and met everybody since I am so outgoing and people tend to like me. It wasn't at all what I expected. My contact met me at the airport and we drove to a nice neighborhood in the hills, to a mansion that had a great view of LA, if you could see it through the smog. Chris and his girlfriend, Christy, met me at the door with the director and a few stage hands in tow. I knew I was in good hands when I met Chris. He was a tall white guy, perhaps 6' 5", and he was built like a football quarterback. He seemed a bit lanky and gawky to me- a little nervous. That is, I didn't expect a professional stud to get all stuttery and tongue tied talking to me. He said, "You have got to be the most beautiful woman I've ever worked with. You are fucking gorgeous!" I felt concerned Christy might take offense to his flattery, but then figured he said that to all of the girls. Christy was almost as flattering of me, as well. I hoped we might work together down the road. Director Bob was an old hand, so it seemed. He was in his late 40s, with little hair and a twinkle in his eye akin to Santa. We hit it off quite well, too. The other two young guys were cameramen and once I got settled I met another woman, Jean, who was the sound-person. Once Bob got to talking there was no shutting him up. He went over what we were going to do that evening, had me try on various outfits and laid out the plot for our adventure. We were going to a night club nearby, that I would meet Chris at the bar and we would then go back to the house for a sex romp. I figured Bob had it all planned out, but I was mistaken. Just before we entered the place, he told me that we were going to shoot on the sly using small HD cameras, that we were going to ad-lib the scene at the bar. The club was pretty crowded for a Wednesday night. Bob paid the manager for a private open room off the second-floor balcony that overlooked the dance floor. Once we established a base-station, we went downstairs for the first shoot, where Chris would seduce me into going upstairs for a drink. I wore a low-cut white business suit that made me look like I was a traveling corporate exec-type and Chris had on business-casual attire. Once Jean rigged us for sound we were off to the races. As soon as the cameras came out we drew attention pretty quick, so I hoped we wouldn't have to do many takes. The strangest thing up to that point was the change in demeanor of Chris as soon as the cameras were turned on. He became eloquent and sophisticated. His opening line was marvelous because it rang true to my real life without him realizing it. It was also great that Bob shut the fuck up. I was seated at the bar and Chris casually walked up to me. He said, "Excuse me, Miss, but from across the room you reminded me of a famous model I had seen on dozens of magazines. Excuse me for being so forward, but might you happen to be her daughter?" I smiled and said, "You don't know how often I hear that. It seems like every country boy wants to associate me with a beautiful mother who has graced the pages as a fashion queen. I trust you are going to follow-up by saying that I should be a model, too?" "Well, it did cross my mind, but knowing you've heard that one a thousand times, let me say that I can see you will never be a fashion model," he said with a coy quality. "Why is that?" I asked. "It's your body. I know you are all covered up in that fine suit, but I can tell certain features would not fit well in today's skinny world of fashion models." He was really pretty good at going with the flow and he presented himself as entirely plausible. Sounding dejected, I asked, "What is it you are saying, that I am out of shape, that I am fat?" "Not at all. It's just the opposite. My guess is that you are far too curvacious to wear stylish modern ware without looking too beautiful... the woman would hate you and they'd never buy the garments!" His laugh truly was charming. I asked, "Now, how can you tell that since I have this suit jacket on and I am wearing a loose-fitting blouse. Do you have x-ray vision?" I stuck out one of my legs so the camera could see I was wearing a fairly short skirt. "Don't you think I have a model's legs?" "I wish I could see through that fine suit, but I'm glad I can't... because I fear I'd go blind. I mean, you have such an aura about yourself even in a business suit, perhaps it is best for the sanity of all men in this club that we cannot see your true form. I'd even go so far to say that is why you dress as such, that you dare not reveal too much out of fear you may injure innocent bystanders." I said laughing, "My, you are such a charmer. My guess is that during the day you are a farmer, then at night you become King Charmer of the dance club, with x-ray vision and other unknown powers of seduction." He moved in close to me, brushing against me to grab a napkin and set down his drink. "Some think I am charming, once they get to know me. My name is Chris, and you can call me Chris Charming if you like. But I fear a stunning beauty like you is already spoken for, and wouldn’t want to have anything to do with a country boy like me. But I figured nothing ventured, nothing lost." He turned and pointed to the small crowd of young men forming behind him, checking out what was going on. "I was hoping to save you from the hoard of high testosterone young men, who will be breathing down your back as soon as I move on." He started to move as if he were leaving. I played into this line by reacting to the guys looking at me, as if I were slightly fearful. I quickly said, "Wait, please. Maybe I do need some saving. At least, to a table with high battlements, since I have already had to push away a few who wanted me to dance with them. That is, if you do have a table. Perhaps, since you look like a hulking football player, you might shield me so I can get down-field unmolested for a while?" With that, he held out his arm and said, " Even better: I have a private table upstairs." With that, Bob gave us two thumbs up and mouthed the word, 'excellent!' As we walked to the stairs I couldn't help but feel it was just like business as usual when I go to clubs, all the guys staring at me even when I am with a date. Guys can be so rude without even realizing it. One man just stood there staring at me, a sweaty-looking man, blatantly eying my body without concern for how I felt. I wanted to slap him in the face. Instead, I embraced Chris, holding his arm tightly as we walked up the stairs. I must say, Bob knew what he was dong, since he didn't interrupt us with directions. Instead, he had the sense to tell the guys keep filming. I sat down on the couch and put my drink on the table, while Chris took his jacket off. He turned to me, standing on the other side of the table and said, "There, I saved you from almost certain death. Do you like my sanctuary?" Actor Chris was a pretty slick fellow, creative and he knew how to play off of the situation, much unlike the other porno actors I had see at that porno site. I could tell he thought more of me than just another passing starlet-tart. Anyway, as he turned I could see he created a wet spot on his trousers, which drew my eye to his pants. It was obvious that he was hanging left because I could see the outline of an impressive bulge trailing down past the stain. I said, "You seemed to have wet yourself," as if nonchalant, "and in doing so you've made me a little wet, too." "What, did I spill my drink on you, too? Shit, and these are new pants. I hope it comes out." "Me too... the stain, I mean." I was feeling frisky, so I stood up and took off my jacket, pushing my elbows back so far in the process they came close to touching. "Thanks for saving me from that mob of weirdos who were staring at me so hard their eyes could have popped out." "I know how they feel, those guys staring at you like they had just seen a ghost, or perhaps more so, an apparition. I mean, you must get that far too much, looking as you do." He paused for a moment. "My god, you are so beautiful and I don't even know your name... don't tell me... I don't want to know... you will break my heart soon anyway." "Fine, then, just call me voluptuous," I said while trying to sound not-too sensuous. "Do you know what men stare at the most when I walk by?" "Wow, for me it's those blue eyes and your sexy face. Are you part vampire or something?" I didn't say anything. Instead, I undid the top button to my blouse, then another one while staring at his crotch. I didn't even have to touch him and I could tell he was getting a hard-on. The room didn't have a door and I wasn't sure how far I should go. Bob motioned that I should take my shirt all the way off, so I sat back down and motioned for Chris to join. I picked up a napkin and blotted his spill, feeling his raging erection wanting out. He tried to grab me, but I stood up quickly. I slowly began to work the buttons again, like I was having a hard time with them. He didn't have the patience for this. He grabbed my blouse and tore it open, revealing my semi-transparent low-cut sky-blue bra (that was a mouth-full). Before I knew it, we were making out and in no time my bra was off and he had my tits in his mouth, devouring them like a hungry dog. In the mean time, I was rubbing his prick through his pants, forgetting I was in an open room at a nightclub. Following the plot guideline, Chris said, "How about we go back to my place for a drink?" I stopped him from touching me. I swear, he sure was a breast-man because he couldn't get enough of them. His touches formed goose bumps around my aureola and they were slick from his saliva. The air-conditioning got them to puff up and glisten. I slapped him hard in the face. He touched his cheek, which turned beat red. I said, "No. I'm not going anywhere." Confused, he said, "I thought we were hitting it off quite well." . "I'm not going anywhere until I see what I'm working with, Chris. It sure feels big, but I've got to know. I mean, a girl has her standards, if you know what I mean. I just hope my appraisal of you was right." "What, like you wouldn't screw me if I have a small dick?" He was acting insulted, folding his arms and giving me the cold shoulder. He stood up as if he might leave. I went down on my knees and grabbed him by his hips, looking up at him while the short haired camera-dude got over his shoulder as I undid his pants. Bob was shaking his head, telling me not to do it, but I ignored him. When he saw me undo his fly, he had Jean join him at the door, so he could, at least partially, screen the view from the clubbers who were walking by. As I suspected, he was quite well endowed. This time, it was my turn to devour him. Knowing the camera was on me, I sucked him with the enthusiasm of a woman who would receive 25 grand if she did a great job. I licked his shaft to get it all wet, then used both hands to stroke him while I gobbled the head of his prick, making him come close to loosing his balance. He was really thick, but I was able to stuff him into my mouth, while staring into the camera. When I was in college a dorm-mate taught me how to deep-throat and I have natural abilities because I don't have any gag-reflex, for whatever reason. I took him deep, my eyes teared up, my cheeks reddened. He tasted so delicious. I sucked on him as if my life depended upon it. "Fuck, where did you learn how to do that? Holly shit, you took me all the way down. AHhhhhh, you are incredible... fucking incredible!" I think I caught his professional attention, knowing he might end up being a good reference. Within no time I had him on the edge. He seemed to enjoy my concentration and lust thoroughly, standing there with his hands on his hips. The one thing I hated most about those pornos were that the guy never lets the girl finish him off. I find that offensive as a sensual woman, practical as it may be. Well, it wasn't going to happen on my watch. Chris said, "Let's go back to my place and do I it right... I don't want to come too soon." "What, a stud like you only has one load for a girl? Your big balls feel pretty full. What say I drain one of them for you, and you can give me the other later." I didn't give him time to think about it. I could tell he was doing his best to hold off, like a good porn-guy. In fact, it was like he needed the director's permission to come; I could see him exchanging looks with Bob, who also seemed immersed in our activity. Jean also had a kind of spellbound look about her. When I saw Bob shrug his shoulders, like 'give the girl what he wants, ' I took him deep and let my tongue caress under his balls, licking the chasm between them, trying to stimulate him to the fullest, while I worked my throat muscles around his long cock. If he weren't so thick, I probably could have worked at least one ball into my mouth. "Oh, shit, fucking voluptuous, fucking voluptuous, you are so voluptuous you are going to make me come. YES< FUCK< YES>>>" He tried to work himself out of my mouth, knowing he wanted control of his orgasm so he could shoot all over my face, but I grabbed his ass cheeks and pushed him into me like a pit-bull on a Frisbee. I kept staring at him, my eyes saying, 'No fucking way are you getting control of this cock until I make get some cum down my throat!' I felt his first spasm jut down my throat and I let up slightly, gagging on the volume. The second one was a lot more of a burst than the first, and I was able to prevent it from going down my throat. I let a little more of him slide out of my hungry mouth, so I could really bare down on his throbbing prick. My cheeks puffed up a little and I let him shoot his full wad into my mouth. Knowing about the infamous male-driven need for a cum-shot instead of swallowing like I normally do, I let some of his thick seamen trickle out my lips. I also let his prick slide out even further so he wasn't as embedded in the back of my throat, but I wouldn't let the head of his dick leave my mouth until he was done. That is, until I was done. He came more than any guy I'd ever been with. I guess that's one reason why he was in the business. I let his jiz cascade down my chin and onto my tits. A good portion of it landed in a clump on my skirt, like I could given two shits. After a few more minutes of sucking, I let up and he collapsed onto the couch, repeatedly saying, "Awesome, fucking awesome." I drooled the rest out and rubbed his cum into my tits, feeling his warmth as if it penetrated my skin and brewed down to lubricate my horny soul. I wanted him inside of me so bad at that moment. I love to fuck a guy just as he comes, feeling him soften inside of me. Before I could try to suck him hard again, Bob said that we should leave because there were a few people hanging too close to the door, like they knew we were shooting a porn scene, so I collected my blouse and jacket. I didn't real feel like putting the shirt back on, so I used it to clean myself up and just threw it in the corner. I put the suit jacket on and shoved my bra into the inner pocket. As we walked down the stairs I didn't realize those in the balcony room adjacent to ours could see across into our room, and they watched everything we did. They were gawking at us as we left. My guess is, from what I could see, they must have enjoyed the show. I noticed that same guy looking at me again, at the base of the stairs. He was aware I didn't have my shirt on and I could see he was looking at my exposed navel and my cleavage, so, I threw him a bone by flashing one of my breasts at him when we walked by. I figured, I may as well act like a porno star and not give a darn about someone staring at me at this point. {WOULD YOU LIKE TO READ ON ABOUT WHAT HAPPENED TO CARABIA?} (Post below, along with a vote, or send me a note and I will post more of the story)