Cindy Inc: The Britney Affair

The continuing adventures of Cindy Crawford –
supermodel, mother, and celebrity bordello owner.
These tales are fictional, not meant to represent
actual conduct (especially in the case of one
character in particular), and not for readers under
18. Comments and suggestions to
cindylover1969@yahoo.co.uk

* * * * * * * * * *

“That’s the third tape she’s filled up,” Cindy laughed
to herself, ejecting the answering machine tape Pink
(one of J-Lo’s ladies) had used to leave abusive
messages about Cindy Inc. for, and dumping it in the
incinerator. By pure coincidence, tonight was the
night that Britney Jean Spears
would be holding court
at Cindy Inc. for one night only, having rejected the
Boeing jet-loads of money that Lopez et al had
offered.

Not only had they been inundated with demands to be
among the lucky few who’d get to bone Britney, but all
Cindy’s other ladies had benefitted from the overspill
– Cindy Inc.’s roster was booked for the rest of the
year and well into the next one. And best of all,
Britney was already on the premises (all had agreed
that a repeat of the London fiasco was best avoided).

“You’ve got mail,” said Cindy’s computer as she was
about to go and get ready for tonight. She considered
leaving it for later, but felt a quick check couldn’t
hurt, and soon found she only had one letter in the
box. It was a link to another site.

“Hm,” Cindy thought as she clicked it out of
curiosity. “Probably another stupid spam site, but you
never know…”

Then she sat down in shock. It had opened onto a
webcam picture of the Plaza Suite; no one was inside
as yet. Above the picture was a clock counting down to
8pm Pacific time. Below was the line “See Britney
Spears Lose Her Virginity LIVE From Cindy Inc. Tonight
From 8pm PT.”

What made it even worse was that it was only three
minutes to eight RIGHT NOW. Cindy knew that she could
still make it to the Plaza Suite and stop Britney, but
she was too shocked to move for the crucial extra
minute she had. By the time she broke loose and ran
for the room, it was already a minute to eight.

“STOP!!!” she screamed as she broke into the private
room, and then metaphorically bit her tongue. Britney
Jean Spears was in there all right, but all alone.
Cindy exhaled in relief – she could still stop her.

“What’s up, Cindy?” Britney asked, twirling the strap
of her nightgown.

“Someone’s set up a webcam here…” Cindy gasped. “You
said no one could watch…”

“Oh, ah know about that silly little cam,” Britney
giggled. “It was MY idea! I want people to see me pop
my cherry… hell, I want them to see you do it.”

If the big one had hit at that moment, Cindy couldn’t
have felt more disoriented. She figured that the
dissenters had been right all along… “You want ME to
do it?”

“Sure,” Britney replied, striding towards Cindy. “Part
of the deal was I got to choose who broke me in, and I
choose you. Come on, think of all the press you’ll get
– Madonna’ll be so jealous she’ll shit herself to
death!”

“But what about the other guys?” Cindy asked, starting
to back off nervously.

“Oh, they’ll be here too,” Miss Spears laughed. “The
more the merrier I say. Besides, they’ll love watching
you eat me. Now come on,” she added, opening her robe
as it struck eight, “you don’t want to let down
everyone on the Net do you?”

The naked Britney came closer and closer to Cindy, who
heard the door lock behind her. In a few moments she’d
be fucking Britney Spears and there wasn’t anything
she could do about it…

Cindy was glad she awoke before she could feel the
young pop star’s shaved cunt on her mouth. Of course,
there wasn’t really a webcam in the Plaza Suite. And
Britney wasn’t really going to fuck her that night.
But there was going to be a draw that night which the
little lady herself would be hosting. And there had
been a number of dissenters in the ranks when Cindy
had announced that Britney would be joining them – a
lot of female stars didn’t like Britney Spears, but
some hated her more than others; only a guarantee that
this was a one-night-only thing had prevented a mass
exodus.

* * * * * * * * * *

“No, for the last time you cannot take tonight off,”
Cindy told Sela Ward exasperatedly. Sela and Cat
Deeley were one of a number of her ladies who had
suddenly decided to not be on the premises that night.

“But this is Britney Spears we’re dealing with,” Sela
argued.

“Yeah, it’s not like this is Claire Richards,” Cat
added.

“Who?” Cindy and Sela asked her, genuinely puzzled.
The MTV UK presenter then realised that hardly anyone
in America knew who Steps were, and made a mental note
to fill Cindy in when she went to London (in a future
story). “It’s not like this is… um… someone from
‘Smallville.'”

“Look, if you’re worried that no one’ll be paying
attention to you – no one’ll be noticing me either and
I’m in charge of the place. If it’ll make you feel
better, bonuses all round.”

“And exclusive interview rights,” Cat added hastily.

“And exclusives, yes,” Cindy agreed as her intercom
went off. “Talk to me,” she added, buzzing it on.

“She’s here,” her secretary said icily. She wasn’t a
Britney fan either.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Welcome to Cindy, Inc., Britney!” Cindy smiled,
taking the surprisingly diminutive pop star’s hand.

“GAAAAAD! I can’t believe I’m actually HERE!” Britney
squealed in reply. “You really ARE pretty hot – for
your age, I mean…”

“You’re not too bad yourself – for your age, I mean,”
Cindy replied. “All ready for tonight?”

Britney nodded. “My mom couldn’t believe it when I
told her about this; tried to tell me to leave it for
Justin, but I figured if he’s making goo-goo eyes at
Christina AAAAAAGGGGGGGGGHHHHHuilera then he just
don’t deserve this.” And she pointed to a particular
part of her anatomy (no prizes for guessing which
one).

“At least they’ll stop going on about your being a
virgin after this,” Cindy continued as they headed
upstairs, ignoring the glances aimed at the two.

“But no pictures, ‘kay? No press on the place when it
starts – I don’t want to find my bare ass all over the
place tomorrow morning.”

“We don’t allow cameras in here anyway,” Cindy
reassured her as they reached the Suite – Britney
would be relaxing there before tonight. “Um…
Britney…”

“Yeah?” the younger woman asked in anticipation.

Cindy hesitated. Telling her about her dream might
give her the wrong idea…

“Looking forward to tonight,” she finished. “Too bad
it’s only a one-time thing.”

“Yeah. Too bad,” Britney agreed. “See you later,
Cindy.”

Cindy watched the golden-skinned girl enter her room
to rest. It was almost a shame about the no-cameras
rule – if there was one meeting she would love to have
kept, it was the night she had gotten together with an
entire birthday party, but tonight’s event would be
right behind. Still, it reduced the chances of this
getting in the papers, especially those fucking
British tabloids.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Those fucking British tabloids. Good for them…” ”
she chuckled as she hung up the payphone. The phones
at Cindy Inc. probably weren’t bugged, but she wasn’t
taking any chances. Plus if any calls to London turned
up on the place’s phone bill (or even her own), there
would be some awkward questions to answer in case it
all went wrong; best to play it safe.

The word about Britney at Cindy Inc. had spread
through the press like wildfire; everyone from Page
Six to the 3am Girls had been trying to get the inside
scoop, but all offers had been rejected, some more
politely than others. The only one that had worked was
one from the inside, which had been eagerly accepted
by one of the less reputable paparazzi out there, who
in turn had struck a deal with a UK paper. “Crawford’s
staff are checking the Plaza Suite for cameras every
half hour,” she had explained, “the last time about
two minutes before 8. I can get a hidden camera in
there in about a minute – I’ve got it all worked out.
Angles, film, the works. They won’t know what’s hit
them.”

“What if they find out it was you?”

“They’ll never find out. Besides, they had it
coming… and Spears is paying me big time anyway.”

* * * * * * * * * *

“What do we want?” shouted a fan in the crowd on the
bordello floor.

“BRITNEY!” shouted the audience.

“When do we want her?”

“NOW!”

“What do we want?”

“To be deaf,” Katie Holmes muttered as she sat back in
her chair. “I don’t know how Cindy talked me into
this…”

“Money?” suggested Gwyneth Paltrow alongside her.

“Oh yeah,” Katie replied as the door on the schoolroom
set opened. The applause and chants of “BRIT-NEE!
BRIT-NEE!” reached thunder levels as Britney Jean
Spears entered, in her ever-popular schoolgirl
uniform. “Hi!” she cried. “Sorry I’m late – would you
believe the dog ate my homework?”

“You ate your own homework?” Natalie Portman asked
sotto voce.

“Better take your seat,” Alyssa Milano urged, patting
the one next to her. “Teacher’s almost here.” She and
the other students – Katie, Gwyneth, Natalie, Drew
Barrymore, Beyonce Knowles, Cat Deeley, Shakira,
Jessica Alba and Sheryl Crow (“Don’t you think some of
us are too old to pass for students?” Sheryl, the
oldest participant in this fantasy and one of Cindy,
Inc.’s older ladies, asked. “Remember ‘Beverly Hills
90210’? Cindy replied. “The one who played Andrea was
nearly 30 in real life when the show started!”) –
settled down as Miss Crawford entered to enact the
chosen fantasy from the many that had been submitted
by post or via the Cindy Inc. website.

“Good morning, class!” Cindy said briskly.

“Good morning, Miss Crawford!” chorused the class
except Drew, who couldn’t resist saying “Good morning,
Charlie!”

“I thought I said no plugs for ‘Charlie’s Angels 2,'”
Cindy mock-chastised Drew. “Now, did you bring your
class project, Britney?”

“Uhhh…” Britney hesitated. “I’ve got it at home but
I just forgot to bring it; I swear I’ll have it here
by lunch – ”

“Sorry, Britney; but you know what the penalty is for
undelivered assignments in my class… of course, if
you want to demonstrate it here right now…”

Britney nodded, and skipped to the front of the class.

“Learn to act, why don’t you?” Gwyneth muttered.

“Ease up on her, huh?” pleaded Jessica.

“My report,” Britney started as she faced the others,
“is on the importance of… of a good sex life.”

“Don’t you mean human relations?”

“Uh – uh, yeah, that’s what I meant. I think everyone
should be getting some regularly if they want to be
well-adjusted and all…” Britney was flustered.

“Perhaps you’d like to demonstrate? Actions speak
louder than words,” Cindy suggested kindly.

“Well, okay,” Britney replied. “But I didn’t bring
anything with me.”

“We’ve got everything we need right here,” Sheryl
assured her, and without waiting for Cindy to give her
a by-your-leave she got up.

“Wait a minute,” Cindy told her. “Im my class we do
things in alphabetical order. You’ll get your turn…
Jessica, you first.”

The sultry young actress had been sitting at the top
of the class specially for this moment. “What do you
want me to do, Miss Crawford?” Jessica asked.

“Anything you think she’d like.”

“Since I didn’t bring any chocolate with me,” Jessica
sighed, “I guess I’ll just have to…” and she brought
her full, luscious lips directly onto Britney’s.
Several of the customers had dreamt about this, but
seeing Jessica Alba actually French-kissing Britney
Spears while Cindy Crawford watched tenderly drove
some of them to come on the spot. Alyssa Milano cursed
her being so low-placed on the alphabet; she was
DRIPPING down there.

Jessica was seriously considering feeling up Britney
along with the kisses, and she practically had her on
the table when she felt hands pulling her away. “Not
so fast, Jessica…” Cindy admonished. “You’ll get
your chance later – Drew, your turn. Only kisses…
Britney wants a man to pop her.”

Drew threw herself into her smooching of Britney with
great enthusiasm; she was even less of a stranger to
girl-girl stuff than the others. Britney rubbed Drew’s
back in return, enjoying feeling her arms around her.
She also felt hands fondling her full, ripe bubble
butt, digging into the back of her jeans, fingering
her snatch…

“SHERYL CROW!” Cindy shouted. “I thought I told you
all to wait!”

“But teach,” Sheryl protested, “she wants us to do it!
Look at her face – I always knew she was a little
tart…”

“Okay; Britney, it’s time to go. Sheryl, if you want
to feel an ass, go for…” Cindy scanned the class.
“…Cat’s.”

Cat Deeley looked shocked. “How come?”

“Why shouldn’t a bird get to eat a cat for once?”
Cindy joked. “The rest of you pair off and give each
other a little… um… ‘happy,’ I think is the term
Xander used.”

“Who’s this Xander?” Shakira asked.

“Don’t you get ‘Buffy the Vampire Slayer’ in
Colombia?” Beyonce told her. “Settle down honey, I’ll
tell you all about it,” and she began to unzip
Shakira’s jeans, as Gwyneth and Natalie started to
finger each other, Drew settled down alongside Katie
to swap stories about Kevin Williamson while fondling
their legs, and Alyssa and Jessica set up a
“Charmed”/”Dark Angel” crossover…

* * * * * * * * * *

“Okay, so are we all ready for the draw?” Cindy
shouted to the massed guys waiting to plunge their
meat into the oven between Britney’s legs, as Miss
Spears held the hat into which each customer had put
their name. “Don’t keep them waiting, BJ…”

“You tell her, Bear!” shouted one of Britney’s older
fans.

“Good call!” Cindy replied, as Britney (who, let us
not forget, was born the year “B.J. And The Bear” was
cancelled) tried to hide her momentary confusion.
Quickly shrugging it off, she dipped her hand in the
hat.

Up in the Plaza Suite, the last minute checks were
being made. It was a large, plush place, almost like
the bedroom of a fairytale princess. The last place
you’d expect events like, say, a gang-bang featuring
four millionaires’ sons and various hot ladies from WB
shows (those who weren’t signed by Jennifer Lopez,
that is) to take place. The cleaning staff had been
very good at removing all traces of that party.

“Nothing here,” the chief of security noted, the last
person to leave. “Let’s move it on out…”

The door closed quietly behind them, the camera the
chief of security had carefully placed in there
waiting to record all the action.

Downstairs, the audience was trying hard to resist the
temptation to go onstage and join in the fun. It was
hard to know where to look; Sheryl Crow becoming the
first woman to have a munch on Cat Deeley while she in
turn did the honours to Alyssa Milano, Natalie Portman
and Gwyneth Paltrow taking turn paddling Jessica
Alba’s butt, Beyonce on her knees behind Shakira while
Katie Holmes was kneeling in front of her with their
tongues in Miss Ripoll’s respective orifices, or
Drew… hang on, where WAS she?

“Uh-huh… uh-huh… okay, I’ll tell them.” She
dropped the mobile phone on which she’d been talking
to Cindy and faced the crowd.

“Folks, that was the boss lady – for tonight only,
she’s agreed to let the audience take part in the
show…” She got no further as the crowd swarmed onto
the stage.

Britney finished drawing the five names. “And the
lucky guys are… Lance Bass, J.C. Chasez, Joey
Fatone, Chris Kirkpatrick and Hugh Grant!”

A knowing laugh went through the crowd as she shook
her head. “Just playin’, people – they’re…” She
named four regular customers and one well-known actor,
one of the many male celebs there under anonymity.
(Author’s note: Use your imagination…) With more
than a few jealous glares, Britney shrugged. “Sorry
for the others, but maybe next time… and if you go
down to Cindy’s Boudoir she’s got a little surprise
for you! Hang tight…”

The crowd made their way to the area where Cindy took
care of those customers who specifically wanted a
piece of Cindy Crawford – the only area in the large
house more plush than the Plaza Suite, there was also
a large closed-circuit TV. There already was a camera
in there, but this was in addition to the several that
were directly linked to this special set – for one
night only. Britney would indeed be fucking live, but
only for the benefit of the customers in that room.
And NO video cameras would be recording it.

Except for the tiny one that the chief had slipped
into the Plaza Suite.

As they watched, Britney and the five guys who would
be taking turns with her entered the plush room. Cindy
would be observing, as excited as the others; she had
always had a secret love of watching, but she rarely
did it with her own ladies. But getting to see Britney
Spears getting poked was too good a chance to miss.

The side show below was getting out of hand. Shakira
could feel her ass glowing as one guy after another
pounded it, and her breasts, small and humble though
they may have been, were slimy with all the come that
was being sprayed on them. In fact, none of the ladies
there escaped cream. She threw a glance at a
blissfully happy-looking Beyonce – for someone who was
supposedly God-fearing she looked awfully happy to be
plugged up tight; she had two cocks in her mouth and
was working them as if she was in line for a bonus,
she had another two plunged deep inside her snatch,
and did she have THREE up her voluptuous ass? How the
hell was she going to walk?

Gwyneth Paltrow, like Martin Scorsese, was being
screwed by the Oscars. In her case literally – she had
liberally smeared Crisco all over some miniature
statuettes and was demonstrating to a fan of hers how
far she could stick one inside her. Much looser than
she ever was on screen, the audience whooped as the
Oscar slowly slid inside Gwyneth’s cute little behind.

Cat Deeley was on her hands and knees, crawling from
one person to the next. She only had one thing on her
mind, and that thing was cock. She relived the past
few moments when she had practically shoved Natalie
Portman aside to get her head around a particularly
plump one; now she was tasting a fresh dick, enjoying
how cut it was (she loved the feel of unprotected cock
on her tongue). Cat slurped away, waiting for the
cream.

Sheryl Crow and Drew Barrymore were wrapped in each
other’s arms. Each was fast asleep; they had made each
other come time and again, and had somehow managed to
tune out all the racket around them. Sheryl had her
fingers snugly fitted inside Drew’s pussy, while the
most famous living Barrymore was clutching Miss Crow’s
tight butt. As they slumbered, a customer was slowly
pushing himself into Drew’s soft ass, while Sheryl’s
long legs were being slowly stroked by Katie Holmes.
She finally began to appreciate what the Beach Boys
sang about wishing they could all be California girls.
Katie took one of Sheryl’s feet in her hands, and
wriggling upwards began to put it inside her cunt.

Jessica Alba had several guys circled all around her;
she was as naked as the men, and laughing as they had
their erect cocks aimed at her. It wasn’t the size of
their penises that was making her crack up; as she
jerked around on the ground, playing with her rack and
twisting around to let them see her pussy and buns in
turn, she was playing a game. Each man was wanking
furiously over her, little gobs of come splatting onto
her olive body everywhere, but they were all aiming
for her open mouth. Her heavenly face had enough
“milk” running down it to make for one amazing “Got
milk?” poster, but few had been precise enough to land
in her mouth. “Come on, people!” she laughed. “Get two
in and you get me for the night…” She then received
a shot right into her mouth and almost down her
throat.

Alyssa Milano and Natalie Portman were tied together,
nothing between them but a baguette carefully inserted
into the actresses’ cunts. They were being watched by
a group, seeing the two struggling against the bonds;
but whenever Alyssa tugged she drew Natalie closer and
thrust the bread deeper inside the fictional Senator
Amidala, and vice versa. Each had stolen a little kiss
from the other as they tried to escape – “Boy, I wish
I was David Blaine right now,” Natalie muttered, not
realising this would involve her standing on pillars
for hours and being very boring indeed in interviews.

Natalie pulled too hard, and suddenly she and Alyssa
were together – the bread would be totally softened by
their snatch oils. “Kiss! Kiss! KISS! KISS!”

“Will you let us out if we do?” Alyssa begged,
although she didn’t mind feeling Natalie next to her.

Not waiting for an answer, she proceeded to teach
Hayden Christensen a thing or 12 about enacting
convincing love scenes with Natalie Portman…

Except for Cindy Crawford, no one in the Plaza Suite
could keep their hands out of their trousers as they
watched Britney Spears fellate each guy on screen in
turn. Cindy had her hands inside her dress, stroking
her thighs and her slot. If Britney really was a
virgin, she had natural talent; if she wasn’t, she
sure could act.

“Oh baby…” Britney rasped as she blew the last of
the five, all of whom had blown loads inside her
mouth. But as they watched her rippling body sidling
around on the bed and felt her fondling each guy, they
were soon stiff and ready again. Numbers three and
four were soon sinking their teeth into her beautiful
bubble butt, while number five somehow squeezed in
between, grabbed her sides and became the first man to
know how the pussy of Britney Jean Spears felt.

“AAAAHHHHHH!!!!” she cried through the mouthful of
cock, but even feeling his slightly painful pumping
couldn’t stop her sucking. She wailed again as number
two started to core her butthole at the same time. And
now she was feeling someone else licking her swaying
tits. It was the guy she’d sucked just now.

Cindy’s own gasps were blending with Britney’s; this
beat Pammie Anderson’s sex tape all to hell (not to
mention the live reenactments Pamela occasionally did
at J-Lo’s).

She started jerking around in her chair, her arms
moving in and out of her dress faster, her fingers
playing “Flight of the Bumblebee” and using her pussy
as a piano. And all the time she was fixing her eyes
on the show Britney was putting on.

Britney was bucking with the thrusts of the men behind
her, as the man in front of her lifted her upper half
as far as he could and began to pull on his cock above
her raised tits. It took about four or five thrusts
before she felt the warm, moist lotion landing on her
mammaries and the guys’ hot breath and lips. Behind
her, kisses landed on the areas where the love bites
were, and all the while three cocks were still working
her. “Aaahhh…. OHHH FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUUCCCKKK!!!!”
she screamed as the first prick fulfilled its mission,
decorating the inside of her asshole.

The attention of the audience was divided between the
show on screen and Cindy’s own showcase. Her head was
thrown back, her long legs were kicking wildly and her
hands were furiously pumping her box. “DO IT BRITNEY
HONEY!!!!” Cindy howled as she masturbated, apparently
unaware of the others.

Britney begged the other guys not to stop, damn it to
hell feeling them filling up all her holes felt
great…

The chief of security was watching the festivities on
her own closed-circuit TV in his office; the orgy in
the main area, Britney’s gangbang, Cindy’s
self-abuse… there was just one thing that could make
it even better. She watched Cindy totter to her feet,
withdraw her hands and smell them (if only he could
get a whiff of her cunt-odoured digits), and withdraw
from the room.

In the Plaza Suite, Britney was grinding away atop one
of them, while the other four were fondling her as if
this was one of her music videos. It was very hot in
there, and Britney was having the time of her life.
She loved feeling hands running all over her trim
body, twisting her nipples and prodding her flesh,
sqeeuzing all of her as she gyrated, doing her best to
get the guy’s seed out of his dick and into her.
Through her half-shut eyes, she could see one of them
coming towards her. But weren’t all five of them in
action?

“You know, I had a dream that you were coming on to
me,” Cindy sighed as she stood next to Britney.

“You and several hundred million guys,” grunted one of
the men between kisses on Britney’s stomach.

“So what are you going to do about it?” asked the pop
goddess, and got the answer she had expected, as Cindy
slowly pushed Britney backwards, prick still thrusting
inside her, and positioned herself on her face.
Britney threw herself into Cindy Crawford’s pussy as
if she had never had one before, figuring if she was
going to try muff better Cindy’s than Christina’s…

Down below, the ever-popular circle munch was in play.
Like a hotter version of the Saban logo (which, for
those who don’t know, features a circle of young
girls), the ten women participating were eating each
other from oldest to youngest – Sheryl slurped on
Alyssa, Alyssa ate Gwyneth, Gwyneth gobbled Drew, Drew
dived into Cat, Cat cunnilinguised Shakira, Shakira
sampled Katie, Katie… um… knew Jessica, Jessica
jollied Natalie, Natalie navigated Beyonce, and
Beyonce burrowed into Sheryl. The living circle of
writhing, naked flesh was strictly hands off to the
customers.

In the Plaza Suite, the favoured five were enjoying an
extra treat as Britney, now free of penises, clutched
Cindy as she enjoyed a woman for the first time. She
could feel the taste of Cindy’s privates hanging
around in her mouth, and she wondered if she could
negotiate an extension of her deal… Nah. Momma would
never approve her hanging around here – it had been
enough trouble to get her to agree to one night.

As the chief of security watched Cindy run her tongue
over Britney’s gleaming breasts, she nodded with
satisfaction. It was fun watching this; it was always
fun to watch at Cindy Inc… but if she did let the
stuff out it wouldn’t be fun any longer. She had seen
lots of stuff go on in here, and did she really have
the right to blow it all for a story in the tabloids?
Money, money, money….

On the screen, Britney was on all fours on the bed,
and Cindy was kneeling behind her, hands resting on
Britney’s golden globes while she tongued her. Cindy
in turn was receiving attention from two of the five
men, while two of the others were working on Britney
as well. The fifth had managed to get himself into
position and was joining Cindy in munching on Britney.

The chief dialled a number. She didn’t want to share
this night with anyone; hang the papers. If they
wanted dirt on Britney they could get it from
someplace else; this was a good job she had and damned
if she’d screw it up.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Hello? Ramsey here. When they’re through in here I’m
going to wipe out the tapes… deal’s off.” No more
words, no more discussion; she hung up.

Lynne Spears studied the phone for a long moment. She
really thought she could have put her increasingly
skanky daughter in her place this time. Still, she
still had her sister to play with.

“There’s no way YOU’RE going to turn out like her,”
she said to herself. “No way at all…”

* * * * * * * * * *

The floorshow was over when Cindy and Britney entered,
both barely able to walk, but both with success in
their eyes, and alert enough to say hi to the security
chief in passing (the Suite lay on her route). The
ladies had retired to their rooms either alone or with
company before leaving in the morning.

“You sure I can’t talk you into staying on?” Cindy
asked.

“Sure,” Britney replied.

“Not even a return engagement?”

“Welll…..” Britney laughed evilly. “I think we can
work somethin’ out. But God I’m tired… do you have a
place I can lay my head until my driver comes?”

“I always just go home afterwards,” Cindy told her as
they made their way out. “Maybe you can share a bed
with one of the ladies upstairs.”

“But they all hate me!” Britney argued.

“Jessica doesn’t,” Cindy pointed out. “Just go and get
some sleep. It’ll be all fine in the morning.”

Britney snuggled closer to the blankets as she
slumbered. She had spent a very busy night; unbeknowst
to Cindy, she had traversed the rooms of Cindy Inc.
going from one bed to another, mending any bridges she
might have burnt unintentionally. She had finally
ended up in bed with Cat, and though she had succumbed
to sleep the MTV presenter hadn’t.

As she stroked Britney’s blonde head, Cat thought to
herself that this wasn’t quite the exclusive she had
planned, but what the hell; they had had quite a
pillow talk, in which Cat had become the first media
personality to discover that Britney Spears would in
fact be appearing at Cindy Inc. on a semi-permanent
basis.

And why not? As the girl herself would shortly be
telling a grateful Cindy Crawford, “I was born to make
you happy.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Blinking as the sun’s rays hit her eyes, Cindy felt
the cool grass on her cheek.

Slowly she drew herself into awake mode, and looked
around. She was just outside a canefield, it was early
morning, and she was alone. SHIT! So she hadn’t made
it –

Cindy’s relief rushed out in a gasp as she saw her
companion was next to her, still out cold. She looked
at her watch; through the light she could make out it
was 6:30. They only had 90 minutes to get there. And
they still had to get to Kelly Brook…

“Wake up,” she muttered as she grabbed her companion
by the shoulders and shook her. No response.

“Dammit, come ON!” she shouted as she slapped her. “I
can’t do this without you! We have got to get out of
here NOW, Lopez!”

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