Cindy Inc.: You Know… For Kids!

This story is dedicated to the memory of Cindy’s
friend and finest photographer, the great Herb Ritts –

* * * * * * * * * *

The continuing adventures of Cindy Crawford –
supermodel, mother and celebrity bordello owner. The
content of this story is fictional, doesn’t represent
the actual conduct of anyone involved, and is not
intended for under-18s. All comments on the message
board or to

* * * * * * * * * *

Tonight was a great time to be Rande Gerber, even more
so than usual; he was watching Cindy in a threesome.
While most men dream of watching women
having sex, he
got to do so nearly every night he wanted, which was
why he was careful to do so only on special occasions.
And tonight was more special than usual.

Cindy, Nicole Kidman and Gwyneth Paltrow seemed to be
in a contest to see who could come the loudest; though
Nicole’s yells as Cindy lavished her anus with her
tongue were impressive, almost as loud as La
Crawford’s earlier screams as the Oscar-nominee and
the Oscar-winner had done her, it was the most demure
of the three (Gwyneth) whose lungs got the biggest
workout as Nicole went down on her. Rande’s face had
an even smugger grin than it usually did as he watched
and pumped his prick.

“Well, you can’t say you didn’t get your money’s
worth,” Mariah Carey told the other spectators.

Rachel Stevens, Jo O’Meara, Tina Barrett and Hannah
Spearitt were too absorbed to do more than nod.

“So are we all set for the big night?” Mariah
continued as she switched the set off, breaking the
spell of the video of Cindy’s private party.

“Uhhh… yeah,” Jo mumbled, the sight of Cindy
Crawford eating Nicole Kidman’s ass staying in her

“And remember, you can’t back out now,” Mariah
continued. “Cindy did her bit, you have to do yours.
See you in London…”

* * * * * * * * * *

Like many Americans, Cindy liked to do Europe (and
Europe frequently returned the favour, especially in
Italy and France). But tonight, as her own grand tour
came to an end, she had other motives on her mind
besides touristy ones.

For a while now, she had been looking into the
possibility of opening one or two international
branches; there was an astonishing supply of what one
of Rande’s coarser associates called “Continental
cunt” out there. But it wasn’t until after a
remarkably busy night she had had in Rome that she
seriously put the wheels in motion to launch Cindy SRL
– Anna Falchi, Elisabetta Canalis and Monica Bellucci
had been the first to sign up and weren’t the last;
Monica in particular had been so enthusiastic that she
attended the subsequent debut of the French outlet,
only to sneak off within ten minutes of Cindy S.A.’s
launch (Virginie Ledoyen, Ophelie Winter, Audrey
Tautou and Clare Morgane had been among the first in
Paris). Coincidentally, Laetitia Casta had also gone
off around that time…

Now, as Cindy finished her tour of the Leicester
Square building that would house the London branch,
she felt a great sense of satisfaction and
anticipation. She had declined to make it a
McDonald’s-type building – each brothel looked
different, along with the ladies to be found there.
Admittedly Cindy wasn’t too sure who some of the women
were (Holly Valance? Gabrielle Richens? Amanda
Holden?), but her UK advisors were trustworthy.
Nonetheless, they had been relieved when Cindy had
told them that some of her US-based women would be
joining her at the big launch. The first of said
imports who would be rubbing shoulders and other body
parts along the likes of the aforementioned Miss
Holden and Susie Amy from “Footballers’ Wives” – apart
from Cindy, obviously – was already in the UK, and
would be taking time out from filming “Ted And Sylvia”
to be there that night.

“I suppose I’ll be working that night as well,”
Gwyneth Paltrow sighed.

“We all will, Gwynnie,” Cindy assured her as they had
some drinks in her suite. “The first night of a new
branch we’re all on duty. It couldn’t be rougher than
the Munich opening… and they say Germans don’t have
passion.” She still felt a bit sore inside from the
big night.

“Yes, but I’m so tired of people asking me if I’ve
started to like British men! I feel like getting a
note tattooed on my forehead – ‘For the last time I
LIKE BRITISH MEN!'” Gwyneth mock-screamed. “I don’t
know why you couldn’t get Liv here instead of me – the
UK press never gives her a hard time about it…”

“Because Liv’s too busy,” Cindy told her patiently.
“Plus, the guy she’s with doesn’t approve, especially
after that business in Barbados. Liv’s not going to
quit; she just has to put his mind at rest.”

“My mind would be at rest if those idiotic 3 a.m.
girls would leave us alone,” Gwyneth grumbled.

Cindy nodded…

* * * * * * * * * *

Natalie Portman felt sorely tempted to unplug her
phone. Like Cindy, Gwyneth and Jennifer Aniston – who
was also going to be along on the opening night – she
had been inundated with calls from reporters asking
who was likely to show up. No, Catherine Zeta-Jones
wasn’t going to be there [because she was on J-Lo’s
books]; no, Elizabeth Hurley wasn’t going to be there
[because she had taken time off from Cindy Inc. to
look after her kid]; no, none of the cast from “Buffy
the Vampire Slayer” or “Sex and the City” were going
to be there [because filming got in the way of the
ladies of the former, and because J-Lo had signed up
all of the latter]; no, Jade from “Big Brother” wasn’t
going to be there – “Cindy Inc works with
CELEBRITIES,” Natalie had pointed out to the one who
had made that last suggestion.

She glared at the phone’s cradle, wishing that it was
tomorrow night, when it would be all over and done
with. The next person who called her would wish she or
he hadn’t… no, better deal with them quickly and
politely. Or just get an answering machine for the
duration of her stay. Yes, that was it… the warmth
of human contact had to be sacrificed for her own
peace of mind.

And as she thought that, the phone rang again.
Sighing, Natalie picked it up, and tried to
communicate all manner of weariness in her “Hello?”


“Hello? Who IS this?”

Still nothing. Natalie almost wished it had been a

“Look, is this you again?”

A dial tone. It was him again. This time Natalie DID
wish it had been a journalist…

One of the hazards of working for Cindy Inc. (and
J-Lo’s) was that not all of the customers were
pussycats, even the ones who were repeat visitors. The
last time Natalie had been on duty, she had done two
or three jobs; two had been with repeaters, but the
third one had been a first timer. All the while he
screwed her he had called her Matilda, while he
insisted she call him Leon. Bewildered but figuring
the customer was always right, Natalie had played
along, heightening her voice to what it had been when
she made “The Professional,” and living out his
fantasy of the hitman seducing the little girl. She
had felt physically sick afterwards, but he had never
returned, and she was grateful for that.

The following week, she had started getting messages
from him. Passionate ones, thanking her for that
night, and for all the other nights she had pleased
him. They were letters at first, but then he had begun
phoning her. The police and Cindy’s own people had
been keeping a close eye on the affair, but he’d kept
his tracks covered – never leaving his name, never
dropping any hints as to what (apart from Miss
Portman) he wanted. And now he’d even managed to track
her down in London…

Natalie wondered if she should tell Cindy. No – he
hadn’t done anything to harm her yet. Best to ignore
him again. It wasn’t like he’d actually followed her
across the ocean.

Or so she thought.

* * * * * * * * * *

“I’m sorry I can’t come onto your staff,” Lorraine
Kelly said apologetically, “but it’s not really my cup
of tea…”

“No one’s forcing you,” Cindy assured the Scottish
presenter. “But what about the others?”

“Oh, she’s up for it, no doubt,” laughed Lorraine.
“She’s waiting for you in her dressing room. She’s
never met you before, has she?”

“No,” Cindy replied as they got up. “Is she nervous?”

“Are you?”

“Yes,” Cindy admitted with a wry smile. “It’s always a
bit weird meeting new recruits for the first time.
Especially with such a tiny time window.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Lorraine assured her. “Think
about it as being here really early for my interview.”
She squeezed Cindy’s hand reassuringly as they
arrived. “You’ll be fine.”

Cindy stepped into Penny Smith’s dressing room as Miss
Kelly departed. On the TV in the room she could see
the blonde, 40s-ish presenter doing her first piece on
screen; she still had time to settle down. Even though
this was one of several breaking-ins going on around
the city (Gwyneth Paltrow was finalizing business with
Sophie Anderton and her new boyfriend, the
newly-arrived Jennifer Aniston and Cameron Diaz were
supervising the female members of Liberty X, Elle
Macpherson was working on Holly Valance, and when
Elisha Cuthbert arrived she would see to Kirsty
Gallacher – Cameron was a real coup considering that
she almost never did British press for her movies),
this was more of a pressure than the others, because
it was HER ass on the line. Literally.

Cindy felt two hands on said ass, fondling it slowly.

“I’ve always wondered what a supermodel’s bottom feels
like,” Penny Smith said. “Not bad.”

“You really want this job, don’t you?” Cindy replied,
turning to look at her.

“Where did you get that idea?” Penny told her, giving
her a teasing look. “Now, what are we going to do? As
if I couldn’t guess.”

“Actually, it’s what I’m going to do,” Cindy told her.
“Let me see your legs.”

Penny lifted her red dress up, giving Cindy a view of
her pins. They were lovely – and topped with a pair of
silky red panties that set off the skin perfectly.
Cindy nodded approvingly. “No wonder there’s a group
about them.”

“There is?” the presenter said in surprise.

“Mm-hm. Don’t you ever go online?”

“Not if I can help it,” Penny admitted, letting the
dress drop.

“Well, you and I are going to give them something
cappers would die for…”

* * * * * * * * * *

Penny was as calm and collected as ever come the 7:00
news, telling the morning viewers of GMTV all the bad
stuff they were waking up to.

No one could see that under the desk, she wasn’t
wearing anything except for Cindy Crawford. Cindy was
slowly tasting Penny’s plump blonde snatch; she kept
an ear out for any indication that Penny was letting
on what was happening. Cindy pinched the inside of the
presenter’s thighs and pushed her tongue up further
inside the slit; very nice and moist.

Fondling Penny’s tender legs, Cindy gently nipped her
little button, enjoying the slight jump in Penny’s
voice as she did. With the camera off her for a
second, Miss Smith adjusted her position enough for
the supermodel to run her hands under her. “You felt
my ass, time to return the favour,” Cindy whispered.

Penny’s bottom was beautiful; big and soft, Cindy
enjoyed stroking and squeezing it. She started to slip
her right middle finger deep inside Penny’s ass,
working it inside and widening the hole, all the while
supping away at her cunt. This woman was good to fuck,
and even better with her controlling. Only Cindy knew
that Penny was getting damper and damper as she got to
the sports news.

“It’s 7:03, back at 7:30. Now over to Fiona…” And
Penny, the cameras safely off, looked down under her
desk at the gorgeous American brunette between her
legs; her mouth was wet with Miss Smith as she looked
up. Cindy gave her the thumbs up.

“Go for it,” the cameraman (who, like the other GMTV
staffers, was sworn to secrecy) said. Penny slipped
off her chair and joined Cindy in the cramped space,
which meant they were closer together. And loving it.

“Why didn’t you ask Fiona Phillips?” Penny asked as
she kissed Cindy’s neck.

“Because nobody wants to fuck her,” Cindy pointed out.

Penny couldn’t argue with that…

* * * * * * * * * *

Fiona Phillips did come a lot lower on the fuckability
scale than Eleanor Gow. Or as she’s better known, Elle

The Body was currently riding The Partner in her
London flat – Arpad Busson was already the father of
her two children, but he didn’t mind going for a
third. The morning light reflected off the tall, naked
Australian, making her look like some kind of an angel
as she bounced up and down on his groin, whooping and
hollering as she ground her fantastic form and dug her
fingers into his chest hair, her endless legs spurring
him on and his hands rapidly rubbing her.

Over the years, Elle’s pussy had been entered more
times than the Statue of Liberty; Arpad’s cock wasn’t
the best she’d ever had, but it had been the only one
she’d let leave anything lasting inside her. Besides,
it certainly felt good sticking up inside her now…
Elle was looking forward to entering the Naughty Forty
stage of her life, especially if she could persuade a
few of the waiters they’d hired at the London branch
to join her after work.

Behind her, she felt a slow kiss. Holly Valance was
ready to join in; Arpad had watched the two of them in
action earlier, and now she was going to play along.
Arpad’s gasps were muffled as the “Neighbours”
graduate (one of several who’d been signed on) eagerly
lowered herself onto his face; the resentment at not
being able to see Elle’s gorgeous-even-after-two-kids
tits was gone with the sight of Holly’s slot.

Still working on Arpad’s cock, Elle felt it get
slightly longer and harder inside her as she ran her
hands from his chest onto Holly’s buttocks. She had a
feeling the taste of the latter’s cunt had something
to do with it, but… Elle extended her arms and
started to stroke Miss Valance’s boobs as she felt her
husband start to give in. She loved the feel of his
cum splashing and spurting into her, filling her up
deep within. But most of all, she loved the fact that
much as he enjoyed fucking tender young girls, deep
down he wanted to stay with her.

Arpad, deep in his mouthing of lovely young Holly (who
was loudly declaring how much she loved Elle), was
wondering how to tell Elle this would be the last
time. Half an hour later, he would.

* * * * * * * * * *

“He wants you to what?” Cindy repeated slowly.

Elle flopped down on the sofa in Cindy’s suite
wearily. “He wants me to QUIT, Cindy. He doesn’t like
the idea of sharing me with other men.”

“And he told you this after he ate out Flick?” Liberty
X’s Michelle Heaton asked in disbelief. “Flick is the
girl Holly used to play on ‘Neighbours,'” she added
for the benefit of Cindy.

“I suppose that is sort of like Dannii Minogue saying
Christina Aguilera has falsies,” Elle agreed. “But
that was off duty, a private threesome.”

“You were breaking her in. That’s never off duty,”
Cindy pointed out. “Of course, if you’d invited her
over on your own time that would be another thing.”

“Think you could?” Amanda Holden asked hopefully. “And
do you think I could watch?”

“Well, actually I did have her and Nicole Kidman on
Bondi Beach once,” Elle replied, smiling at the
memory. “It was late one afternoon and we – ”

Elle’s trip down memory lane was interrupted by a
knock on the door. “Reporters?” Michelle asked, as
Cindy got up to answer it.

Peering through the peephole, Cindy shook her head and
mouthed “Three A.M.”

Michelle nodded. They weren’t reporters – they were
the 3 A.M. girls. The trio of gossip reporters in the
“Mirror” who were notorious for their staggeringly
high opinions of themselves even by showbiz writer
standards. Who, as Chris Moyles on Radio 1 once
suggested, probably got the title after the time they
put their makeup on. Who had almost as much
journalistic credibility as typesetters. Who were the
Trinny and Susannah of the gossip world in that they
were expert at dishing it out but crap at taking it.
And who were outside Cindy’s hotel suite now.

“I’ll meet you all downstairs in ten minutes,” Cindy
called resignedly.

“Oh, can’t we come in?” demanded the blonde 3AM Girl
(this author refuses to dignify the hags by giving
them names).

“But then you’d know who else is coming, and it’s a
secret,” Cindy pointed out, drawing a zipper over her
mouth – all the women in there kept silent.

“Just come into the hallway, and we won’t keep you

Cindy sighed, and joined the girls in the hallway, all
with expectant looks on their faces.

“So – who’s on the list?” asked the black 3AM Girl.

“You know, I could have sworn I told you I wasn’t

“You know, there are three women you’ve overlooked,”
chuckled the blonde 3AM Girl.

“I don’t think so,” Cindy replied, before realising
what she was saying. “You don’t mean…”

The trio nodded and pointed to themselves. “You let us
join, we don’t make it very, very hard for your
whorehouse. We’ve got a lot of influence in this

“Don’t you mean the people whose articles you steal
from have a lot of influence in this town?” Cindy

“Oh, you’re going to pay for that, dearie,” said the
other 3AM girl. “There are men who’d die to have sex
with us.”

(“You mean die rather than have sex with you,” Amanda
said sotto voce behind the door.)

“Of course, all you have to do is let us on board and
it’ll be plain sailing,” the black 3AM girl grinned.
“Think it over, Crawfie.” And the trio sauntered off
with what they thought were sexy wiggles.

Cindy, who didn’t need to try to wiggle seductively,
shook her head and went back inside. Losing Elle,
gaining the Three Annoying Mingers… well, at least
the day couldn’t get any worse, she thought as the
phone rang.

Gwyneth, now back from Sophie’s place, got to answer
it. “Hello?… Uh-huh… You’re sure? Okay, I’ll tell

“Tell me what?” Cindy asked as the tall blonde hung

“That was Elisha, calling from the airport.”

“When did she get in?” Cindy asked, relieved.

“I didn’t say which airport,” Gwyneth said. “She was
calling from LaGuardia. Her plane’s been cancelled –
she’s stuck in New York.”

Cindy reminded herself to NEVER say things couldn’t
get any worse.

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