The Brat

by Honey West

I breathed a sigh of relief when the shuttle plane landed in New York. The trip itself was turbulence-free and ahead of schedule, but my traveling companion was irritating the hell out of me. Young Ashley was a new star in the modeling agency that I worked for. At nine-years-old she had the look that promised to be phenomenal if her beauty continued on its current trend. (Just as some ugly ducklings turn into swans, a child beauty could also lose her appeal as her age progressed. So far this child had the promise of being a stunner.) The only problem was her attitude. Ashley was a pint-sized prima donna. Her demanding ways, haughty demeanor and just plain bitchiness made her a problem for the company. On the short plane ride alone she was a small terror; insulting the flight attendant, demanding a hot meal and insisting on a row of seats to herself (which the harried attendant could give her since the flight was barely filled).

I blame her mother for the way the little girl was. Ashley’s mom, Gretchen, was one of those show biz mothers; pushing her daughter into the limelight and living vicariously thru her fame and money. Her attitude was just as bad if not worse. Once her little girl had some successful shoots, she became intolerable, threatening to take her property to another agency if she did not receive an increasing number of perks and percentages. What Gretchen did not realize was that my agency didn’t play that game. Oh sure, Ashley was a gorgeous child, but she was not irreplaceable. Child models were not in the ‘superstar’ status and were, quite frankly, easily replaced with other equally beautiful little children. If my agency bowed to every stage-door mother with illusions of grandeur I’d have to find another profession.

Speaking of which, my name is Lauren and my actual position with the firm is that of a scout. I’ve been very good at discovering fresh, photogenic faces that may or may not make it in the modeling profession. However, on occasion, I’m sent on a job like this: babysitting this temperamental little brat on an assignment. An advertising firm liked Ashley’s portfolio and wanted to use her in its fall collection of school clothes. It was a quick two-day shoot and my agency decided to use this time to straighten Gretchen out. This was a ploy they’d used before and it sometimes worked. The mother was told at the last minute that she would be needed in the home office to work out some contract snags (in which she probably felt she could work a better deal for herself) and that I would step in to chaperone her daughter to the city for the shoot. Once there (and without Ashley, a psychological move) they would read her the Riot Act and tell her that they would be happy to release her daughter from her contract and send her on her way if she continued to be a problem. They would also remind her that other agencies would be aware of the reasons for the drop and they too tend to avoid high-maintenance stage mothers. If it worked, great, for Ashley had a dynamic face. If not, ta-ta, Gretchen.

My job was a bit of the same. Away from her mother, Ashley would have no choice but to listen to me. When she announced that the cab that was to take us to the hotel was too dingy to ride in I firmly pushed her in and slammed the door behind us.

“Listen to me and listen hard, little one,” I said sternly.

“I have two modeling agencies in this city on my speed dial ready to replace you in an instant if you do not listen to every word I’m about to tell you.” (The child had a look of indignant shock) “I suspect you know exactly what kind of bitch you’re acting like and I’m telling you that if you don’t stop and start showing some manners and respect I’ll fire you on the spot and send you home so fast you’ll miss puberty! Do you understand what I’m saying?”

Ashley sputtered in surprise at my tirade, demanding to call her mother. Your mother is at this moment being told the same thing I’m telling you now, I told her. She sulked quietly in the cab as we made our way through the city. It seemed a shame this had to happen. The girl was in most ways a typical 9-year-old: small, boyish yet feminine, (with a slightly fuller backside for her age that made the last two photographers want to shoot her from behind, looking over her shoulder) and a baby-face that teetered into knowing sexuality. She was perfect for modeling. I found myself sometimes distracted by her doll-like lips and pert nose but her bratty attitude repulsed me. Now here I was taking The Bad Seed to possibly her last job with us.

In many of my travels I tend to keep within the expense account budget, but whenever I’m in New York I like to treat myself to one of the finer hotels and my favorite was waiting for us when we arrived. The concierge knew I liked a room high up where I could look out on the city. I booked a suite with a luxury bath and two rooms but knew I would have to enjoy it later as our first shoot was this morning and we barely had time to leave our bags in the room. That was when Ashley started up again. She asked the bellhop if there was an indoor pool and when he said it was under repair and not available she berated the poor teenager and began a rant against the inferiorities of the hotel. That did it. I walked past my luggage and picked up the phone, announcing to the front desk that we were checking out and requesting a cab back to the airport. Ashley’s eyes popped open when she realized I was not kidding. She couldn’t believe I was doing this but I grabbed my bags and told her to do the same. No, don’t touch that young man, she can carry her own luggage. Panic swelled in the girl’s eyes as I opened the door to leave. Suddenly the snotty little brat became a scared little girl who knew it was no bluff. She cried and pleaded for me to stop and give her a chance. “My mother will kill me if this happens. Please. PLEASE! Give me another chance! I’ll be good, I promise!” It was strange, but the child was suddenly not a bitch and became a vulnerable schoolgirl that I wanted to protect. Her tears were real and I knew that those same tears could make her eyes puffy and hurt the photo shoot. I hated to think in such a business-like manner but I did want the assignment to go through. I calmed her and said I would give her one chance but if she so much as stuck her nose up at someone I would toss her in the luggage compartment and ship her home. We were already late so I took her hand and led her to the elevator and instructed the bellhop to hold my room after all.

Young Ashley was quiet on the way to the studio and I worried that this would affect her ‘look’. To my surprise, her session was amazing. Not only was she polite to the staff but she was smiling in a way I hadn’t noticed before. Ashley had a beautiful baby face that was unblemished and fresh, wonderfully photogenic but in a controlled sort of way. But now she seemed to add something to that face that came out in every click of the camera. I saw that she had added something that was missing before: YOUTH. Her face was that of a young girl in love with the clothes she was wearing, the school supplies she was holding, the backpack, everything. Her smile, though professionally perfect before, was now an honest smile and it showed through the lens. It was as if a load had been lifted when she dropped the Bitch Mode and a bright young child emerged. She was giggling with the make-up girl in between shots and I wondered if she’d had any real friends lately. The photo staff, men and women, seemed to fall in love with her and I must say that even I felt a warm spot growing for the girl that suddenly appeared.

The session ended late but her joy didn’t sag once. I told her how impressed I was and she beamed like a candle. We went to dinner in the hotel restaurant, knowing that tomorrow’s shoot would be outdoors in the mid-morning. I couldn’t help but be struck by the beauty of this child as she ate dessert or by the way she kept glancing at me and blushing.

“What?” I queried to one of her shy glimpses.

“Oh, nothing.” She toyed with her cake. Then her face became serious. “Mother tells me that to be a success in life you have to, well, demand things. She says,” Ashley leaned forward to whisper, “she says you have to be a bitch!”

“Do you really believe that now?”

Ashley looked around as if Mother would hear. “I had fun today. Stella likes me. She’s the make-up girl. She said I was fun.”

I couldn’t get over how charming this kid had suddenly become. “Ash, don’t you have friends at home?”

The girl’s eyes went down for a moment. She imitated her mother’s voice: “Friends come with success, child.” She giggled at her impression, but there was hurt in that giggle. I wanted to fly back that moment and punch Gretchen in the face.

As we rode the elevator up Ashley leaned against me and looked up with those clear brown eyes. “I don’t like being a bitch.”

“Then don’t, child. Everyone liked you today because you were you. Yourself. Heck, Even I fell in love with you.”

I don’t know what brought me to say that but when her face broke into joy I had to fight the urge to scoop her up in my arms.

Now up to now I had not discussed my sex life. At 41, I have had my share of love as a confirmed bachelorette. There had been men, women, and a little bit of both.

In my years of scouting I have tended to view youngsters strictly in a professional manner, although at times I found myself including one or two into my masturbatory fantasies. (I have, however, included a LOT of things in my fantasies.) But always I have prided myself on professionalism first. That same professionalism was there even as she hugged her small body next to mine. We entered the suite and tiredly stared at our luggage sitting unopened. We looked at each other and silently agreed we were too tired to unpack. “Why don’t you go start your tub,” I said, “and maybe afterward we’ll call room service for a little bedtime ice cream.” The way her face lit up made me warm inside. (As well as horny). She ran into the bathroom and as I reached for the phone it started to ring.

It was my boss, Matt. I asked how it went and he said that Gretchen went home crying and threatening to sue the agency and so on. Give her the night to sleep on it and we’ll see. How’s the kid?

I wanted to be honest and tell him he has a potential superstar if she’s treated right but I was interrupted when Ashley came running into the room. “Lauren! You gotta see the size of this bathtub—“ I held my finger to my lips and motioned her back to the bathroom. When she disappeared I whispered into the phone, ”Matt, keep on that so-called mother and get her straight. Otherwise you’ll lose a gem.” I hung up and called the front desk to hold any more calls. I didn’t want that bitch to call tonight and re-spoil her daughter. As I listened to the tub run I realized that I had to pee and there was only one bathroom. Well, I thought, we’re both women. What the hell.

Ashley was still dressed when I came in. She was standing over a beautiful sunken whirlpool tub (one of the reasons I pick this hotel) and was pouring a bit too much bath gel into the flowing water. “Honey, stop or the bubbles will get out of control,” I said as I hiked my skirt up and sat on the loo. I tried to seem casual about peeing in front of her but she stood there staring at me and I felt really self-conscious. “I’m just peeing, Ashley, go ahead and get yourself in the tub.” I wiped myself as she kicked off her socks. She pulled off her shirt and was naked from the waist up. I stumbled on my heels as I tried not to gaze at her perfectly creamy chest, flat except for her pink, round nipples which puffed out a little. Her arms were girlishly skinny and her belly button was a mild ‘outie’. (In the art of ‘trying not to gaze’ I suck.) I held my breath expecting her to pull her slacks down but she stood there watching me watch her.

“Lauren, will you take a bath with me?” she asked. I tried to detect a telling tone in her voice but couldn’t.

“Ah, I don’t think that’s a good idea, girl. I don’t think it’s something we should do.”

“Why not?”

Damn, that seemed a simple enough question. “Well, because people would think it was wrong for us, I mean, a grown woman and a little gir—a young woman such as yourself to get in a bath together.” Good enough, I thought.

Ashley shrugged. “I won’t tell anyone.”

“Well, it’s not that simple, Ashley. If it got out people might think that we… well, that I…

“That we were lesbians?”

“Um, sure, something like that. How do you know about lesbians?

The girl shrugged again. “We have cable.”

“Oh.” I said stupidly.

“I won’t tell anyone.” Ashley turned off the water, though the tub was probably 75% bubbles. As she turned to check the temperature I saw the smoothness of her back and knew I wanted to run my hands across her white skin. Not saying a word I undid the buttons of my blouse and took it off revealing my fully packed bra. I truly had not expected to be exposing myself to anyone when I dressed this morning so I put on my most comfortable style which also showed a lot of cleavage. I was aware of the flesh I was showing and thought to distract from it by unzipping my skirt and letting it fall. I then pulled off my slip which had been digging into my waist throughout the day.

“Good ahead and get in, Ash, I’ll be there in a bit.” I started to massage out the skin imprints my underwear had left on my waistline. I wasn’t fat but there was an extra layer of flesh that the elastic band had dug into. As I rubbed my stomach Ashley took off her pants and then stood there in white cotton panties. My god. She had a boyish body except for her hips which were forming nicely. My fingers ached to touch myself but I dared not. She approached me and asked about the imprints around my waist and when I said the band was too tight she reached forward and began copying me, massaging my waist, kneading her small fingers over my flesh. I told her that felt good and she smiled. She stood within reach with her little pink nipples and I felt dizzy from the closeness of her. The thought that I knew nothing of the girl’s knowledge of sex kept pestering me so I asked her outright as she worked the wrinkles out of my skin.

“School mostly,” Ashley said matter-of-factly while I became aware of my increasingly wet pussy, “we talk about boys, periods and, y’know, feelings.”

“Have you had your first period yet?”

“No. Not yet, I guess.”

“And ’feelings’, have you had those yet?”

She looked up at me with a blush and a sly smile. “Not yet, I guess. But I try,” she whispered secretively. “I think I come close. But not yet.”

She starting watching my chest as I realized I was breathing more heavily. My full breasts were falling up and down within the constrains of my bra. I sensed her hands were not used to massaging and were getting tired. I touched her bare shoulders gently and began gliding my hands over her upper frame. “Softly,” I cooed, “Just like that.” And she began to do the same, running her petite hands around my belly and over my hips. I stopped mine over her flat chest and pressed my palms over her nipples, rotating them slightly. Her face seemed to turn a hot pink. “I like that, Lauren.” “Good”, I said. She looked at my swelling cleavage and her eyes smiled up at me and I knew that there was no turning back. I unclasped the bra from the front and released what I thought were fairly ample breasts and what Ashley must have thought were enormous.

Her eyes were wide as I shucked off my top but she continued to caress my body, sliding her hands up my sides and across my shoulders with a light touch, causing me to shudder. Then her dainty fingers ‘skied’ down my left boob and stopped at the edge, touching my nipple and making it extend even further than I thought possible.

That did it. I took the child’s face and put my full mouth to her baby-like lips and pressed them together. In her youthful innocence her mouth was hung open in awe the whole time we touched each other, and I let my tongue sneak in for a taste of her sweet saliva. We lowered ourselves to the warm bathroom floor, the air still thick with the smell of bath bubbles. My hands felt up her smooth-as-silk tiny frame and I dared to cup her small but graceful ass-cheeks as she squatted before me, holding my hefty tits in her grasp. Suddenly we stopped moving and looked in each other’s eyes as she felt my finger slide underneath her and touch her bumhole through her panties. I could feel the puckered rim flex thru the fabric, and when she did not protest, I moved the crotch aside and set the flat of my index finger directly on her hole. She let out a quiet gasp as I tapped it, feeling a slight soft tackiness to the little round opening. I asked her if this was alright and she said that anything I do will be all right. At that moment I knew that it was a solid fact that I was going to get to smell and taste this little girl’s private treasures tonight, and the total realization made my cunt gush freely and the smell of bubble bath was taken over by the scent of my pussy.

I kissed her again and found her feeling me up as I did this. I lifted her in my arms and easily carried her into my bedroom. I brushed the mints off the pillow and laid her down, asking her if I could lick her all over. She said yes but only if she could do to me whatever I did to her. I was thrilled! I stretched over her to kiss her again and when my heavy boobs settled on her chest she surprised herself by moaning out-loud. I brought my face down to her panties and breathed in her fresh fragrance through the cotton. She twitched and jumped as I wetted the fabric making her slit more apparent. Then I pulled her underwear down to reveal a smooth, hairless set of lips that made me a confirmed pedophile right on the spot. I was hunching my cunt into the bed as I spread her legs slightly and gazed upon her perfectly puffy honeybox, bringing my nose within an inch and causing her to shake when my warm breath was felt. When I separated her slit with my tongue, she began thrashing her head from side to side and when I knew that she was cumming for the first time, I came too, moaning and slobbering over her pink little clit.

When she came to, little Ashley insisted on putting her tongue in me and I didn’t want to say no to such an angel. She was not adept at this, of course, but her enthusiasm and willingness to please me was enough to send me to Nirvana. Somewhere along the way my professional instints reminded me that too much late night exercise could lead to a tired face in the morning and there was a shoot still to be done. Though she protested at first, the day’s events caught up with her and the girl fell asleep in my arms. When I was sure she was solidly asleep, I masturbated to the earlier image of this baby-faced darling smiling at me, her chin and cheeks soaked with my cunt juices.

She pouted the next morning because I was in Business Mode. I told her that if she gave a really good shoot this morning I would keep her in the city an extra day and I would teach her many delicious things.

That night, the last thing we worried about was looking tired the next day. The hell with Gretchen. I’d handle that bitch later. For now, the Brat was gone, and my Angel was nestled in my breasts.