The Perfect Model

Jessie made her way down the long staircase that spilled into the great room of the house. It resembled one of those meeting rooms you see on a luxury liner, with chandeliers and towering columns. Everything was designed to be large and imposing, and the desired effect was felt by Mr. Blaine’s newest arrival.

Jessie almost got dizzy angling her neck up and down, but Jennifer held her hand and provided support.

“Okay, I hope you brought your appetite, because Mr. Blaine’s chefs make enough food for an army,” Jennifer excitedly related.

Finally, the pair reached the dining hall. They were greeted by the staring eyes of 20 models and the man at the head of the table, Mr. Blaine.

“You are late with our guest of honor,” Mr. Blaine directed his scowl at Jennifer. Jennifer responded with a shameful nod. “Ladies, may I present to you our newest member of the family, Jessie.”

As Mr. Blaine finished the introduction, the models (ten seated on either side of the table) stood briefly and curtsied. It was bizarre to watch. More bizarre for Jessie was the attire she observed on the women.

Everybody moved up and down so quickly it was difficult to catch all the details. Jessie tried to avoid staring at the girls’ clothes (and lack of clothes) as she was seated, but in some examples it was hard to look away.

The girl just to her right, Christie (she would soon learn all of their names) was wearing only silver chains, from her neck to her toes. The links seemed to fasten together like a dress, but like no dress Jessie had ever seen or imagined.

Some girls had dresses that were designed to reveal their breasts, lifting them while being exposed. Other wardrobes were made of latex, and some resembled bikinis more than evening dresses.

Jessie took these erotic outfits as just the expressions of artist and model, but wondering at the same time if she would be expected to dress like this herself.

“Very well, we have held up dinner long enough,” Mr. Blaine started, “And I am too hungry to keep talking, so…”

He picked up a tiny bell and produced a ring.

>From the door (leading from the kitchen, Jessie presumed) four maids emerged. Each one was dressed identical to the other. All were wearing the same tight-corseted short French maid outfits and the same ultra-high heels. They rolled out the first appetizers and set them properly on each plate.

Jessie had no idea what she was eating, but she followed the lead of her fellow models and scooped at the food. Not bad, I could get use to this, she thought.

There was small talk, but nothing above polite chatter. Christie asked about Jessie’s high school days, her likes in music, and so forth.

After the appetizers were finished, Mr. Blaine signalled for the main course. Again the four maids emerged but this time the rolling cart was notably bigger. As the cart came through the door, Jessie’s eyes grew wide like the china saucers in the place setting.

Lying in respose on the cart was a nude female (another model?). Her body was outlined by carved slices of turkey meat positioned along every curve. She was completely naked save for the warm turkey dressing which ran down her legs and breasts. Held tightly in the girl’s mouth, as if to complete the picture, was a bright red apple.

Jessie watched speechlessly as the maids made their way around the dinner table, serving slices to the girls.

Christie leaned into Jessie’s ear, “That’s Pauline for you. She’s loves to be the center of attention.”

It was then Christie’s turn.

“How many slices would you like, mademoiselle?” The maid asked with her head bowed, not looking directly at Christie.

“Oh, don’t bother, I’ll help myself.” And with that Christie raised her knife and fork to the cart, jabbing at several different pieces, as if to select just the right one. In her efforts to select, Christie quite purposefully jabbed into the girl on the tray. Pauline let out a muffled whimper as she was poked in the thigh by Christie’s fork.

After choosing two pieces, Christie then took her spoon and starting sliding it across Pauline’s breasts, scooping some of the warm dressing. She went again to her body for more dressing and made sure to roughly slide her spoon over Pauline’s hard nipple.

“Excuse me,” Christie began, “but where is the stuffing to go with my turkey.” Christie knew all along, but she enjoyed taunting Pauline.

“Why, where it usually is preserved, Mademoiselle.”

Jessie was already having a hard time believing her eyes, but now the limits of her believablity were being tested. The maid bent Pauline’s legs up and out to expose the mound between her thighs. Jessie had an unobscured view and she watched intently as the maid calmly removed a thread which had beed used to sew together Pauline’s pussy lips. With each tug of black thread, Pauline’s cries became louder behind the apple.

With great care, the maid now pulled at the outer lips and uncovered the resting place of the turkey stuffing mix. Christie took her fork in hand and thrust the prongs into Pauline’s warm vagina. Pauline reacted to the fork and let out a loud, yet garbled yell when the utensil scratched against her sensitive pussy lip.

Mr. Blaine watched all of this quite calmly, all the time taking mental notes, and continuing to eat.

Jessie had lost her appetite at this point, and motioned her head for “nothing, thank you” when the maid came by.

What have I gotten myself into?

Christie turned again to Jessie. “Don’t like turkey, huh? Well, maybe you’ll have an appetite for the dessert.”