Balancing The Scales

Balancing the Scales

Jessica Alba, Monica Bellucci, Brooke Burke, Jenna Jameson (F+, F+M, cons, nc/cons, reluc, oral, anal, exh, FDom, mast)

Hello, all.

So originally, we C-S authors got in pairs to commemorate our 3,000th story. The idea was to get together in pairs and write about two seperate celebrities getting together. Pairs & pairs, dig? Not only that, it was s’pose’da measure out 3,000 words to the letter. Everyone who completed would get moderately priced champagne and sandwiches, it was going to be glorious.

I use was a lot because due to various reasons and The Pulse (as one
of our subjects would’ve put it in her show) this is one of the few surviving complete stories. But we think it’ll still hold up despite things having changed since we put this in the books back in the summer: you probably ARE at C-S-S-A reading one of the 3,000+ stories, ain’tcha? That’s what we thought.

Bitches and oversexed gentlemen! Welcome to this, the first production brought to you by Black Field Enterprises. None of this is even remotely close to anything approaching reality so you Pat Robertson lapdogs can take your lawsuits and cram them up your ass with walnuts.

Praise, constructive criticism, or psychotic hatred can go (damn well better go, I mean) either to cindylover1969@yahoo.co.uk and/or to godhateme79@hotmail.com. To Jessica Alba, Monica Bellucci, Brooke Burke, and Jenna Jameson: HOMAGE. Not disgusting. Not actionable via lawsuit. HOMAGE.

Oh, and if you’re under 18, we told you in clear bold letters don’t read this. Of course, if you choose to ignore it, that’s your thing. Just keeping the lawyers off our ass.

Told the uptight to fuck off? Check. Fawned over the subjects? Check. Warned the kiddies? Check. Got the story?

Uh…

* * * * * * * * * *

The funny thing was, Brooke Burke had actually seen the story in print before that morning. When you worked for E!, reading the entertainment news was as second nature as breathing, so of course she’d seen what Monica Bellucci had said. Most of them had.

What made it even funnier to think about was how most of the real skinnies in La-La Land had let it roll off them; Calista, Gwynnie, Grace off “Will & Grace,” even those definitions of shallow the Hilton sisters – they’d heard it all before. So it was pretty much the last thing on the sexy brunette’s mind as she wandered through Tower Records’s soundtrack section looking for some CDs for a couple of friends. Brooke picked up a copy of “X2: X-Men United” and shook her head; couldn’t he have asked her to get “2 Fast 2 Furious” instead? At least that had real songs on it…

She lifted out two more and strolled to the checkout, passing a pair chatting by another layout of albums.

“…anyway, I hear ‘The Hulk’ isn’t too good,” said the first.

“Yeah, all Elfman’s stuff sounds the same anyway,” grumbled the second.

“Bite your tongue, he’s entitled to his off days,” replied the first. “Plus it was a rush job, he had to replace Danna.”

“Saw some more clips last night. I might not even go for Jennifer Connelly.” “She’s not so hot anyway – that hottie from ‘The Matrix Reloaded’ was right. Hollywood girls are too thin, you gotta go overseas for some real babeage these days…”

Brooke’s ears burned when she heard that, but she still managed to smile for the cashier as she paid. She knew she was a damn good looking woman with curves to spare; if Monica Bellucci ever got interviewed in depth on E! (depth and E! – now there were two words you hardly ever used together), maybe someone ought to take her to task on that.

“My roommate says that Bellucci woman’s sexier than you,” the checkout boy said as he handed her the purchases, snatching the opportunity for a bit of small talk with the girl who did “Rank.” “I think he’s mad.”

He hadn’t said that in hopes of getting a grateful kiss from Brooke Burke, but he was up in the clouds for the rest of the day when he got it.

* * * * * * * * * *

Although Michael Weatherly had claimed his relationship with Jessica Alba wasn’t based around sex, that didn’t mean he didn’t enjoy it when it came around. But watching his fiancee lying next to him, her perfect features still and morose, looking as if she had been blacklisted or something, he had a feeling that he would not get to sink himself into her fine behind or even nicer snatch tonight.

He put that out of his mind to ferret out what was on hers. “Jessica?” he asked. “What’s wrong? You’ve just been lying there all night…”

Jessica slowly turned to face her boyfriend, sullen and cross. “Some kid came up to me today and told me I was too skinny,” she said in a low voice. “If it had been back when I was still doing the show it would have been one thing, but I’ve been getting the weight back… it’s that Italian bitch’s fault.”

She sat up in bed, letting the blankets fall to reveal her nudity; Jessica was far from bony – slim, yes, but she most definitely had breasts. Very nice sizeable ones too. And she had a bottom as well; full, round and pert. Her arms and legs weren’t bulky, but scrawny and spaghetti-like they weren’t. She got out of bed in a rage to let Michael see the full package.

“Look at this!” she shouted. “Does THIS look like an anorexic to you? OK, so I don’t have huge tits like Bellucci but so what? I’m still not starving myself or anything… women like her make me want to fucking rip her eyes out!” Michael knew better than to interrupt Jessica when she was pissed…

* * * * * * * * * *

By Jenna Jameson’s count, that was the 37th kick to the speedbag after reading “Belluccigate”. Her breasts rippled with another high kick. “That bitch is going to get hers, and I’m going to be there.”

In her mind, it was as good as done. If only she could figure out how…

The ringing cell phone broke her from her naked workout.

* * * * * * * * * *

So what?

If she’d cultivated the controversy with her comments, it was a controversy she either didn’t want to acknowledge or build up until she could best wield it to her advantage. It was the end of a long day for Ms. Bellucci–one throwaway comment to the US press and now she was a smoking puppy-killing reincarnation of Hitler or the dickhead at ABC who’d cancelled Sports Night.

So what?

So what if she was currently waiting for this reporter from some Boston paper to deliver his meat into her ass? He was cute–there was something about that bald head that reminded her of Vin Diesel. And she barely ever had sex with reporters, so it was all right to…

“Ohhhhhhh Christ.” The head pushed forward as he maintained a grip around her waist with his right forearm.

And whatever problems she had would disappear over the course of the next 18 minutes.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Someone needs to make that bitch pay,” muttered Jessica Alba to her lunch partner, Brooke Burke. The latter was trying to recruit the former to be a celebrity name for her burgeoning bikini enterprise but they’d barely exchanged hellos at the new hot spot D. Fiel’s before Alba had just launched into it.

“Bellucci?” sighed Burke.

“YES. What a joke. I’ve been accused of a lot, but being too thin?” Jessica quieted down long enough for the waiter to pour the water and to fake a smile in his direction before he scurried off.

“I know it, I know it,” said Brooke. “She somehow out-acts Keanu Reeves and thinks she’s justified to say anything.” Brooke took a sip of her water, shaking her head.

“Y’know, I was riding a high over being named hottest woman in the world and now…”

“You’re the hottest woman in the world?” asked Brooke. She hadn’t gotten that press release over the wire.

“A band of loyal independents.” Jessica smiled, looking coy and hot as she perused the menu.

“One-handed typing fanboys?” They both shared a laugh.

“Yeah, but they mean well. I mean, you’re #26–Bellucci’s #29.” They ordered their respective lunches and Alba leaned on the red meat–fucking Italian whore–while Burke ordered the shiitake mushroom sandwich.

“So who’s joining us for this little recruiting march you’re on?” the younger asked.

“Well, she is pretty late–no, wait, this is her now. Over here!” Brooke yelled, waving along the third side of the triangle.

The well-stacked blonde removed her baseball cap and glasses. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No problem. Jenna Jameson, Jessica Alba.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The three women all agreed that it would have to be in the next two days; Monica would be flying out of the US by then, and none of them wanted to wait until “The Matrix Revolutions” opened to take another shot.

As Brooke entered the room with her baseball capped crew, she hoped that the rumours about Monica being friendly to the occasional reporter were true; the whole thing hinged on her reaction to what she was about to ask in this interview for “Rank: 25 Hottest International Actresses.” (There was, of course, no such episode yet, but it was a more plausible cover than anything the other two had suggested.)

“Ah, you’re the woman from E!?” Monica greeted Brooke.

“Right first time!” the reporter laughed, shaking Monica’s hand. “And these are my girls, Robin on camera and Jubilee on sound – she loves the X-Men, and you know what they’re like at that age.”

“Too facile for me, I found,” the Italian replied.

“Now you’ve really gotten a lot of male attention throughout your career,” Brooke started, “and you made such an impact on our viewers that you’re the hottest international actress according to our lineup.”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t flattered,” Miss Bellucci answered, “but these things are purely fleeting.”

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re a twenty-year-old or a porn star; you’re a proper actress in her mid-30s! That makes it even better…” Brooke continued to apply the metaphorical oil to Monica, while Robin trained the camera firmly on Monica’s face and Jubilee positioned the boom over the two women, waiting for the signal.

“Now, there’s one question we all want to know the answer to – you’ve never been shy about on-screen sex or doing nude scenes…”

“Why should I be? I’ve always been a woman, even as a little girl.”

“But would you ever do it with another woman?”

“I could… if it was the right script,” Monica answered with a teasing smile.

“Would you do it with…” It was Brooke’s turn to teasingly smile. “…with me?”

Monica’s cool shook for a moment. She was used to flirting with reporters, but never with a woman. She watched Brooke sidle a little closer to her, looking deeply into her eyes. “Come on, Monica – it’s not the first time… it’s your last interview today, and we can get it done really quickly. Plus I’m not skinny…”

“Well… can we rely on their silence?”

“Oh, they won’t say a word,” Brooke assured her, now pressing next to her. Even though she was the enemy, Miss Burke was happy to find Monica was hot in every sense of the word. “We’re very discreet. Now close your eyes…”

The Italian actress closed her eyes; Brooke nodded and pulled back sharply as Robin/Jenna turned the camera lens. She, Brooke and Jubilee/Jessica hurriedly buried their faces into cushions for the next thirty seconds, which was how long it took for the sleeping gas to hiss out of the camera, waft over Monica, be breathed in by her, and cause her to fall back on the sofa in a deep sleep before it evaporated.

“At that age?!” Jessica huffed as she pulled the “boom microphone” off its stalk and removed the sealing tape prior to tying Monica’s hands and feet.

“And what was that ‘She’s not like a porn star’ crack?” Jenna fumed. “Like you’re so pure, Miss I Take My Clothes Off For The Cameras Every Chance I Get…”

“Stop complaining, and get her to the laundry chute. He won’t be waiting forever…” The ‘he’ Brooke mentioned had been the one who’d told them where Monica was staying. Much as he had enjoyed that big, sexy Mediterranean ass Monica had, when Brooke had explained what they had in mind (and reminded him of the similar time when he had interviewed HER), he agreed it was time to call in that favour…

* * * * * * * * * *

PRIVATE PLANE CRASHES

FOUR ACTRESSES BELIEVED DEAD IN PACIFIC

It wasn’t fair, he thought to himself. It just wasn’t fair. If he hadn’t graduated at the top of flight school, he could’ve worked normal flights where you worried about terrorists and if the hot piece of ass stewardess was quietly hiding Red Lobster between her legs. But nooo, had to make Mom proud, had to be overachieving Mitch and make the fam proud.

And what had it got him?

Brooke Burke, squealing with delight as Jenna Jameson ate her out while slipping fingers in her ass and Jessica Alba sucked her tits. Every so often, Brooke had a job for him to do, and every so often he’d wonder why somebody else couldn’t just fly the damn plane before his cock explo…

“Shit!”

“Mitch…we’re…gooooooddddd….not…goingtodie…oh! OH! Are we?” Brooke almost hoped they would. Wouldn’t that make for some good conversations with St. Pete? “You died doing WHAT?!” “No, WHO.”

“No. I missed the island. We should touch down in five.” And I should touch myself in five and two seconds, Mitch thought as he swung the plane around.

Brooke knew Mitch had a thing for her–he was male with a pulse–and she liked having him around. In some moments she thought of giving him a present.

Well, it WAS going to be his birthday in a couple weeks.

Angling herself on her forearms like a crabwalk, Brooke got as close to Mitch as she could without crashing the plane. Jessica and Jenna hadn’t exactly wanted to stop or leave the hot spots they were in and so the entire mass of babeflesh found themselves at the helm of the plane.

“Mitch. Take off your pants.”

And so Mitch executed a very delicate plane landing with Jessica Alba sucking him dry, Brooke Burke licking her twat, and Jenna Jameson licking her twat.

It was going to KILL him he couldn’t tell anyone.

* * * * * * * * * *

When Monica Belluci came to, the first thing she saw was the last thing she’d seen before the lime green gas. But the woman from E was now topless, and she’d brought naked friends: a blonde and a brunette.

“Wha?” was all she managed to get out before the brunette reached out and slapped her.

“You see, Ms. Bellucci–can I call you whore?–it’s as simple as this. You’ve rowed up Shit Creek without a paddle. And NOW we’re gonna fuck you up.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Bellucci missed her flight,” said the secretary. Her boss didn’t take it as well.

“BELLUCCI MISSED HER FLIGHT?! Oh, holy fucking God, what next?!”

“It’s all right…all right, she’s not needed on set another 8 hours. It’s not vital…” But there was no reaching him at moments like this.

“Daddy needs a calmative.” he muttered, slamming the door and making a march to the wet bar.

* * * * * * * * * *

There was something about being handcuffed and naked. The loss of control, Monica pinpointed out in her head.

“Poor Monica,” sighed Brooke, reaching into her panties. “That’s not going to be an episode of Rank at all.”

* * * * * * * * * *

The producer had chugged down enough liquid medication to get him calmed down, until he found out that a) Monica hadn’t been on the next available flight and b) she hadn’t been in touch with anyone. In fact, no one had seen her since that interview round she’d done.

“Who was the last person to see her?” he calmly hollered at his secretary.

“Well,” she replied, standing well away to keep away from his Jack Daniel’s breath, “apparently it was Brooke Burke. We’re trying to find her now…”

“And you’re wasting Universal money… MY money… on this why?”

“Ummmm… because she went up there to interview her and she never came back… and it’s their opinion that Brooke might have a little something to do with where Monica’s gone.”

“It’s WHOSE opinion?”

“Bellucci’s PR people,” the secretary replied. “And they agree.”

“Yeah, and they would be who?” She told him, and ten seconds later he was back at the bar. Now that the chairman of the board knew about this… whoever had Monica, she’d better be okay.

* * * * * * * * * *

“What’s this all about?” asked Monica.

“Alfie…” Jenna sang, to a puzzled look from Jessica. “Oh, sorry…”

“Do the honours, Jessie,” Brooke said, her mind concentrating on the contents of her panties, and what her fingers were doing inside them. She cast her eye over her prisoner, half hoping that she’d say no…

“My pleasure. It’s like this, missy,” Jessica told their captive. “Listening to you lay into US actresses for not looking like… oh, let’s face it, for not looking like you – that pissed off a lot of us, and made you look like you’ve got a head as big as your tits.”

“I can’t help it if I’m built the way I am.”

“Yeah, and someone like Gwyneth can’t help being built the way she is. Stuck-up cunt.”

“At least we agree on something.”

“I was talking about YOU.”

Monica glared at Jessica, who suddenly felt glad she was handcuffed.

“Anyway, all we want is an apology,” Jenna told her.

“In print,” Brooke added, sighing.

“Or on TV,” Jessica finished. “Otherwise you’re going to be here for a long, long time.”

“You’ll have to make the best of things…”

“Jenna!”

“You gave me the opening, Alba.”

Though Monica knew her captors held all the cards, she wouldn’t give them the satisfaction of giving in. She put on her usual ice-cool face and replied in what she thought was a convincing American accent, “Kiss my butt and call it ice cream.”

“Thank you, I believe I shall,” Jenna replied, and rolled Monica over, ignoring her cries as she was twisted by the handcuffs on the post. “I’ll say this for you, Bellucci – you’ve got a body made for porn; I can just see you, me and Briana Banks together.”

She licked her lips at the sight of Monica’s round, fleshy rump up in the air, and bared her teeth preparing to take a love bite. “No, wait…!” Brooke panted, feeling herself about to finish off and pouting a little as her captive’s hirsute cunt vanished. “Give her a break… let HER decide who goes first.”

Straightening herself out, Monica’s relief at not having Jenna Jameson’s teethmarks in her behind was replaced by a new worry. “Who goes… first?”

“We’re each going to take turns playing with you until you agree to go back on what you said, Slut Queen,” Jessica told her. “Go ahead, yell for help all you want – there’s no one around.”

“And no saying yes and then not doing it,” Jenna added. “We found you before, we can do it again.”

Underscored by Brooke’s moans from her wanking, Monica could see they meant it.

* * * * * * * * * *

The flight was due to land pretty soon. They’d tried getting answers from the pilot but he was just looking off into space with the goofiest grin on his face, occassionally laughing madly.

The secretary had a belt of J.D. over the fourth one.

* * * * * * * * * *

If she could’ve said anything, she would’ve. If she could’ve spit out Brooke Burke’s wet pink panties–or wanted to–surely she would’ve cried and moaned over Jenna Jameson biting her in the ass, or the young brunette that’d hit her rubbing their pussies together while Brooke put juice-covered fingers in her mouth.

She couldn’t, and slowly became more comfortable about her life as a temporary fucktoy.

* * * * * * * * * *

There seemed to be the one house within walking distance of the landing strip. The agent passed the gun off onto the secretary. An alarm could go off, or anything.

He quitely mouthed 3 and offered up a quick prayer, before kicking the door in.

* * * * * * * * * *

“SHIT, YES!” screamed Jessica Alba. “MY CLIT DOESN’T…FUUUUUUUUCK….SEEM TOO FAT FOR YOUR CUNT, DOES IT, WHORE! I’M THE HOTTEST! I’M THE HOTTEST, AREN’T I?!” The ex-Dark Angel threw her head back but kept the muscular thighs wrapped around Bellucci, spasming like a printer on the fritz. Brooke leaned in and sucked Monica’s neglected nipples as she could feel Jenna Jameson shove a second finger in her ass…

And a sudden clunk plunged the room into silence. The clunk of a gun falling to the floor.

* * * * * * * * * *

The four of them looked onto the two visitors, waiting for one of them to say something.

“Uh…you’re late, Monica,” said the male, wiggling from side to side to not look as if he’d suddenly grown outward. Monica finally let the panties fall out of her mouth onto the bed.

“Can I suck my way into staying missing a while longer?”

She could.

She did. And as she did, she saw Alba & Jameson circle the secretary. The porn star, the action babe, and the overwhelemed secretary made one hell of an isoceles triangle on the floor of lewd noise. Monica felt a tug on her hair. Brooke, pushing her cunt all over the Matrix star’s ass. She took her ruined panties and slipped them over Bellucci’s bottom as she nosily bought her freedom for a few minutes. “Beautiful.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“Ma’am, we heard a disturbance in the area,” said the officer.

“Oh, no disturbance–just deal closing.” Brooke smiled brightly from the door, hoping the cop didn’t sniff the air too intently.

“Yes,” added Bellucci, feeling the eyes of the officer scan her body up and down. “I’ve come around on my earlier views.” The officer nodded, turned, and left.

“That’d be great,” he said a little too loudly. “Monica Wild On Brooke.”

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