World's Most Famous Labia

Imagine this: Your earliest memory is being in the kitchen, your mother is listening to Christina's music while making delicious meatballs and spaghetti. The music makes both of you dance. The singer is a talented young breakout star, half Cuban, half white, petite frame with a dynamite voice. Blonde, ponytail and high heels, a fashionista.

Two decades later Christina is sitting across from you in a conference meeting. She's become an icon and her career has shifted toward being a panelist on a network singing show. After her pregnancy, she's attempting to make a comeback to the music scene along with launching a line of wellness products.

Am I starstruck? Yeah, absolutely. But as the youngest person in the room, it's important to project an air of professionalism so I can be taken seriously. The conference table is filled with laptops, papers, and sample products. Christina is our first major celebrity so we're treating this like a golden opportunity.

"Here's what our mission statement should be," she says. "Our product isn't just pleasing, but healthy for the vagina. A woman's vagina is our epicenter. It's pleasure, it's pain. It can give life. The vagina goes through a lot, so we need to make it feel good. It needs to be pampered and nurtured."

We're making vaginal lubrication, by the way, along with other products for intimate female care. Officially we're a wellness brand. The fancy, high-end type, the kind that exudes sophistication at a reasonable price for the everyday woman.

For the final part of the meeting, someone opens a digital folder with vaginal pictures and shows it to Christina for approval. A conscious decision had been made to feature vaginas on the eventual website and promotionals. The amount of nudity shown is an ongoing question.

"Beautiful women, but it's almost pornographic. Like they're too perfect, you know? I have this vision for something with more... clitoris. A bit more labia."

The comment catches the team by surprise because we'd gone through great lengths to procure this set of vaginas. We went to different models who pose naked for a living, which apparently is the opposite of what Christina wants.

My boss Gabby flashes a disarming smile.

"I'm sure we can find what you're looking for. That shouldn't be a problem."

The singer looks around the room.

"How about you?" Christina says.

For some reason, the popstar is gesturing toward me. All eyes in the room look in my direction. My boss stares at me with inquisitive eyes, wondering why the popstar singled me out.

"Me?" I ask.

"You've been quiet. We might benefit from your input."

"Well, actually I'm in charge of social media marketing, so I've been typing notes on..."

"You're the target audience," Christina says. "No offense, but I want broad appeal. Not just model types. Does that make sense?"

"It does. You want the product to cater to celebrities, career women, and regular everyday women who are just trying to get by. You can feel like a star without feeling pretentious. Celebrity-without-celebrity, in a sense."

Christina's eyes brighten. "Exactly. That's exactly what I'm saying! So we can't use porn quality pussies for marketing. It's not inclusive enough. We need natural. From the moment you walked in this room, there was something that piqued my interest. You're the main target for this product."

"Thank you," I say.

"But beneath that veneer of a shy, intelligent employee, lurks something more complex, am I right? Correct me if I'm wrong, but that's the vibe I'm getting from you."

I notice my boss shooting a death glare in my direction, that 'Don't you dare fuck this up,' expression that she's known to give people. Millions of dollars are on the line and losing Christina would be a disaster for us.

"Sexuality has always existed on a spectrum," I say. "Embracing unique bodies and loving ourselves, rather than constantly striving for some unrealistic standard of beauty is super important. I love that you're promoting a message of self-love."

Do I believe any of that? I honestly don't know, but it was the first thing that came to mind. It's my way of matching Christina's energy as I've been preparing for the eventual marketing campaign for next year's release.

"That's interesting," she says. "I actually dig that."

"I'm glad."

"Are you comfortable in front of a camera?"

"Sure, I'm on social media a lot."

Christina nods. "Open to modeling the product? You exude a vibrant charm."

And like that, I've made the biggest mistake of my life.

"Sure," I say.

"Bad ass. Can we get a sample? I want to finalize this right away."

They say that when you have a near death experience, your life flashes before your eyes. I'm experiencing something similar. I tell myself it's okay because my colleagues have probably seen the million swimsuit pictures I post on my Instagram page. They've already seen countless vaginas in preparation for this meeting.

I stand and undo my pants. My underwear is showing and I refuse to look at anyone except the pop star. For added clarity, I pull my underwear higher to reveal the shape of things. Christina nods, liking what she sees, but she wags her index finger up and down. Her hand gesture could be interpreted in different ways, but in this context, it's clear what she wants.

Call it spur the moment. Call it being impulsive.

My boss, who's sitting right next to Christina, gives me a curt nod that it's the necessary move, so I pull my underwear down and enter a world of humiliation I never knew existed. Actually it feels liberating in an odd way, but humiliating nonetheless. I focus on Christina as my sex is exposed. It's like we've formed a sexual kinship. Surely this binds us together in some cosmic way, right?

"That's it!" she says. "You are the star of this product!"

I pull everything up quick -- but not too quick, can't let anyone know my weakness -- and I smooth my pants to look normal again. I sit down as the meeting comes to an end, and like that, I'm the main model they'll be using. It's a twisted feeling to sit here after my most intimate area was exposed.

The meeting concludes and my boss goes to Christina and offers a handshake. Everyone also shakes her hand and starts to leave. There are small glances in my direction, people wanting to see how embarrassed I am, but the only thing I can do is feign bravery.

When everyone makes their exit, Gabby lingers by the door to wait for me, then she brings her lips to my ear.

"You are a fucking rockstar," she whispers.

I whisper back, "Thank you."

What I'm really thinking is, 'You are a fucking cunt for putting me in that position and I should sue this company into bankruptcy,' but why am I so aroused? I have a hard time walking to lunch because of what's going on between my legs. I've never done anything close to this, I'm not an exhibitionist, so where does this leave me?

xxx

A renowned photographer is setting up cameras and lighting in the studio. Stylists -- hair and makeup -- are going to and from Christina's dressing room. It's a big deal because Christina had decided that celebrating motherhood should be an integral part of marketing. She wants to show that motherhood can still mean sexy and having a successful career.

I'm sitting alone in my dressing room wearing a long white robe and a small tshirt underneath. Nothing else. The last few weeks have been stomach churning, more so than the time my friends took me skydiving. The only saving grace is that the general public won't know these pictures are me. I'll be anonymous, just a specific body part for people to admire.

The downside is the photoshoot itself. My only experiences with professional photographers are school photos and attending weddings. I've never been the star of the show. Nude? Never. Not even former partners have nude pics of me. The other problem, of course, is my reputation at work. They know it's me in these photos. My private parts will be on their computer screens. Eyes will always be leering at me.

For my troubles, I'll get favoritism at work and a generous pay increase for keeping Christina happy. Protection from layoffs goes a long way in this economy.

Worth it? You tell me.

An assistant comes and gets my attention.

"You're needed in the studio now," she says. "Christina goes first, then you."

"Sure, thanks."

I step into the slippers they provided and follow the assistant to the main studio. I'm struck by how dark it is with the main lights off. The photography area is lit by neon blue and purple lights, like something from the last Blade Runner movie.

Christina is surrounded by a team of stylists and she comes barefoot wearing only a thin robe. Her hair is dyed platinum and her skin looks bronzed. There's confidence in her body language, a fierceness in her eyes. She's done provocative shoots in her career, but this is her post-pregnancy body and she's got something to prove.

She drops her robe and the assistant takes it away. She's fully nude and her body is slathered in oil. Her oiled skin shimmers under the neon lights. Including myself, there are 8 people in the room and she has the confidence of a goddess to be standing like that. I thought it would be a situation where her nipples and private parts would be strategically covered, but I was wrong.

Her figure is closer to her younger days, compared to her slight weight gain in the last decade, followed by her recent pregnancy. Curves are a natural part of aging and they looked great on her, but she chose to push herself with a trainer and personal chef. I've never seen her full topless before, she's never released those kinds of shots in her career, except for the occasional flash of nipple. From what I can see, she has larger breasts that kind of sag, the kind filled with milk.

It's a bizarre thing seeing a woman you admire in the bare. It's entering a forbidden zone. Like I was never meant to see this. Christina walks to the center of the set; the interplay of darkness and neon looks surreal on her oiled body. Everyone is relaxed about this except for me. They've all seen this before, I'm the only person new to this world.

The photographer snaps pictures, the neon lights change color, casting a different glow on her body. She strikes different poses. The photographer gives suggestions here and there, but for the most part Christina knows what to do. This is her show after all. In some pictures there's a closeup of her face, others her hips and legs, others with her hands covering her boobs, or even holding them. Lots of emphasis on her breasts and hips. The zone of motherhood. How it's changed her body. Her nipples harden.

About 20 minutes later, Marvin announces that they have enough shots. The crew applauds her boldness, as do I, but nerves build in the pit of my stomach because I'm next. Christina basks in the applause as the neon lights stop and the normal bright lights come on. Her nude body looks magnificent under normal lights. I admire her skin, her shape, and the darkened shade of her post-pregnancy nipples.

When an assistant hands Christina a long silk robe, she wears it, but she doesn't bother to close it. The robe covers her tits and most of her body, but leaves the center of her shiny chest and vagina on display. People act like this is normal and the nervous sensation in the pit of my stomach grows. Christina looks right at me.

"Your turn," she says.

An assistant holds out her hand, gesturing for my robe. I pull the knot and release it. The robe slides off my shoulders, and with the help of the assistant, the robe is removed and I'm bare from the waist down -- feet, legs, ass, everything... All I have is my small white tshirt.

When I step under the lights and the camera points at my crotch, everything changes. I thought Christina would leave to get the oil off, but I was wrong. Her robe is still open and she has no intention of leaving, same with her team. They want to watch my set.

If you've never posed with your most intimate area showing, let me tell you something, it's a different kind of humiliation. Everyone's attention focuses on you with strong intent, scrutinizing your perfections and imperfections. They'll remember it forever, possibly even fantasize about it here and there.

With that in mind, it's also empowering in ways I hadn't expected. The camera snaps. No one is judging me. I'm captivating them. They're loving this, Christina is loving what she sees. Now she's focused on me, rather than the other way around. My heart is pumping, but I'd never want to do this again.

Marvin kneels and takes pictures from inches away. Zooms in and out. My skin sizzles under the scrutiny and bright lamp lights. I'm mortified by the super close-ups but also very fucking aroused. That's how contradictory these feelings of exhibitionism are to the average person like me.

"Can you lay down?" Christina asks. "Adding wetness would set this off."

The photographer rests the camera and waits for me to lay on the floor. Not wanting to make a fuss, I do what I'm told. I open my legs a little, but not wide enough to make this a medical tutorial. It's about subtle eroticism for a product, not a showing of human anatomy.

My hair is splayed across the floor and I'm staring at the ceiling. The clicking sound of the camera echoes, the sound comes nearer, in between my legs. The snapping sound is a blunt reminder that these images are forever. Christina's fans will be buying these products and seeing these images of me. I hear Christina's footsteps approaching me. Her bare feet make smacking noises on the floor as they come nearer.

When she stands close to me, I see her pussy because her robe is still open. She's looking at me, not in a gratuitous way, but as a business woman. The gears in her head are turning.

"Here's the wetness," she says. "We're a lubricant brand, above all else."

Christina kneels beside my body and opens her robe to reveal her oiled boobs. They shimmer under these bright lights. I can really see them now, the smooth curves of her chest, the color of her nipples, even the tiny bumps on her areola. Her breasts look full, heavy, and maternal. Her brown nipples are erect and she squeezes them and milk shoots onto the lower half of my body. I flinch but try to keep still. It's my first time interacting with a woman's milk and the fact that it's hers makes it feel like a blessing.

I don't know if this is sexual to Christina or not, but for me it's titillating. Her lactate has a rich smell. I enjoy the tingle of her milk hitting the skin around my crotch. The droplets are warm. But more than anything it's seeing her nipples swollen. I guess you could say it's a fetish I never knew I had.

Without looking down at myself, I know Christina's actions have achieved the desired effect. I'm aroused. And I can feel her fluids leaking down my crotch and thighs. The photographer is snapping pictures like crazy while bringing the camera even closer.

"That should be a wrap," Marvin says. "The last few are magic."

Everyone gathers around the laptop to see the uploaded shots, Christina's robe is still open, and by the look on their faces, we've got everything covered. The shoot is wrapped and once again, all the attention is given to Christina, while I'm treated like an afterthought.

She's whisked away to her dressing room to remove the body oil and I head back to mine. I can hardly look anyone in the eyes, even though no one has judged me. In many ways I'm glad to have done this. I've never felt hotter, literally and figuratively.

xxx

I was given a plane ticket to meet with Christina at her Miami hotel suite. My boss is ecstatic that I'm in touch with the pop singer because that means a stronger business relationship. Everyone is starting to feel the pressure. We're launching the lubricant product soon and she's gearing up for a world tour.

A hotel suite for a celebrity is different than what the average person would expect. It's like a fancy apartment, but it also doubles as a working space. Her team is busy in the suite when I arrive mid-morning. The living space is filled with boxes, mostly unopened, laptops being used on the dining table, and Christina is in the bedroom testing wardrobe for the show.

While waiting in the living space, I look at the unwrapped promotional materials laying around. Christina's nude body slicked with oil, breasts and vagina strategically covered with her hands. An absolute icon. Someone with enviable confidence and charisma.

I'm called into the bedroom and Christina looks like something reminiscent of her younger days. She's gotten a little thinner, which I think is a shame. I've become aroused by her curves. She's sitting in front of a dresser and two older women are fixing her appearance. A small leather dress that's black and silver, something futuristic, something daring. It's form-fitting and reveals legs and her cleavage is popping out, like the top is about to explode. She's barefoot and her boots are laying on the floor.

"What do you think?" she asks.

"Reminds me of your second album. I love it."

"Nice catch."

She's too tight around the top and the stylists tug and pull. They discuss loosening it another inch or two. Everyone ignores me while they remove Christina's dress. She stands, they undo the straps from behind and pull the outfit down to her feet.

Christina stands in front of the mirror wearing a sheer strapless bra and a thong. The stylists take the dress away and begin making modifications on a nearby table. Christina is still gazing at her reflection, her hands ruffling her hair. Even though I've already seen her nude, there's something about a sheer bra and panties which attack the senses. It's a different level of primal than full nudity.

"Take a look on my bed," she says. "That's the reason I invited you here. Better to show you in person than sending emails, right?"

I walk to her bed. There are stacks of promotional materials with different logos, shots of a vagina with thick brown folds and a clitoris that's erect from exposure. The posters are the most jarring because they're blown up, every detail of the pussy is noticeable. Each fold. Every line. The black and white images show a glimpse of the inside with droplets around the mound.

That's me.

The droplets are her milk.

Her entire team must have seen these images. Everyone who looked at me since arriving saw these images. I'm beyond mortified. It's reality punching me in the gut, and soon, these are going worldwide, on the internet and alongside the lubricant product. The people at work will see this. My friends and family will eventually see this, not knowing it's me, perhaps admiring the view.

"What do you think?" she asks. "Bad ass, right?"

I resist the monumental urge to revoke the deal and have the images destroyed.

"Looks... amazing. My saving grace is that my face isn't attached."

"Relax. It's only pussy."

I turn to Christina when she stands in front of me. Her bra is removed. Her breasts are free. The last time I saw them, they were drenched in oil, now they're normal, draped in sunlight through the window. Between her heavy makeup, gold and silver accessories, and bare breasts, it's how I'd imagine a Roman noblewoman used to look in ancient times.

"But that one is mine," I say.

She laughs. "Funny. But yeah, these types of photoshoots aren't for everyone. I got used to doing those at a younger age. You're brave. Seriously."

"Thanks."

"Do you know what the most exhilarating part was? I'm talking about the photoshoot."

"The breast milk?"

"How'd you guess?"

"I noticed your erect nipples when you sprayed me."

"Astute observation," she says. "Will you help me with something?"

"Sure, my job is to help you."

"They're working on my wardrobe. I need these tied beneath my boobs. It's the key to a consistent shape when I'm wearing different outfits on stage."

On the dresser there's a long fabric, like a sash or ribbon, and she hands it to me. She tells me to wrap it around her body, which I do, trying to avoid staring too closely at her nipples in the process. She does the rest, wrapping the length of the fabric around each breast. All the way around. Not too tight. But the breast bondage has an interesting effect, it causes her boobs to jut forward, making a bulbous shape.

Christina steps in front of the mirror and admires her appearance. She flicks the nipples on her protruding breasts. Her lower lip quivers, she's aroused. I wonder what's doing this to her, the fact that I'm watching, or the bondage itself? And make no mistake about it, I'm aroused as well.

"Want to see a trick?" she asks.

"I'm assuming it involves your breasts."

"Do you mind?"

"Not at all."

She turns to me and pinches and pulls at her nipple. Then she asks me to tug on the breast bondage, and when I do, a light stream of milk sprays from her tits. I'm mortified this is happening, wetting the carpet, wetting my clothes, but my overreaction amuses her. The weak stream of milk isn't enough to make me squeal, but it's enough to make me flinch.

I look over to the wardrobe people in the room, they aren't paying attention to this, Christina's sexual antics must be normal to them. Knowing her by this point, I can imagine her walking around nude all the time, doing all sorts of things to her breasts. I look back at the nipple, the stream is slowing without any additional stimulation, and it's leaking down her body.

"Does that hurt?" I ask.

"It feels nice. Maybe someday you'll have the pleasure of having milk."

"Someday would be nice."

"Want a taste?"

"I'm not sure if that's a good idea. We're supposed to have a business relationship."

"Without squeezing grapes, you can't have wine."

Christina guides my head forward with the gentleness of a loving doctor, except she's guiding me toward her breasts. The thought of sucking on her, or even touching her boobs, is a bizarre dream. Even with handshakes or hugs, touching her always seemed like touching fire.

My lips graze the skin of her breasts, she pulls me closer, and I can smell the sweet lactate of her milk. Her bound breasts are like warm pillows. Before giving a second thought, I start sucking the nipple and milk pumps from her breast again and I swallow everything that shoots. The sensation is thrilling, my heart pounds, and my legs are clenching together feeling her erect nipple on my tongue.

"Women should be comfortable exploring what makes them feel good. So keep going, if this empowers you, then embrace it."

She pulls my head tighter, having my face mesh against her luscious tits, which makes the milk gush into my mouth and cheeks. I gulp faster, my first oral interaction with breast milk, and a woman's breast in general, and I lick and suck the way I'd want it done to me.

"You were delicious in that photoshoot," she says. "Your shyness added something. Seeing people do their first nude shoot always gets me wet, hope you don't mind hearing that. I was very proud of you."

If she only knew what kind of pressure and torment I went through.

She adds, "Later that night I thought about you... oh god... hope you understand."

Christina guides me to her other breast and I start sucking again, circling my tongue around the nipple, gulping down her sweet milk. I think about her words while nursing. Flattery is an understatement. How should one feel when being told that a pop star had masturbated while thinking of you? That you were flown out to give oral service, because that's exactly what she planned. She could have emailed me the pictures and been done with it.

I can hear her breathing while she's stroking my hair in a loving way. I've read before that certain women can orgasm with the right nipple stimulation. The more she breaths, the harder her nipple feels in my mouth, the more I'm convinced that's the case with her. She's going to cum right here while I'm nursing on her tits.

Her breathing becomes erratic and she trembles from the pleasure. I'm stuck in the most peculiar position of whether to give her an orgasm or not. I can hear my boss screaming inside my head, that of course I need to keep going because Christina is our main partner.

So I keep going, it's best for business and we're both in the zone. Her breast bondage and my virgin lips are a match made in heaven. I keep sucking on her nipple, her body is trembling, her angelic voice makes a low murmur.

Christina taps me on the shoulder, which is a signal for me to stop. I pull my mouth away, wipe my lips with the back of my hand, then stand upright to look at her. She looks more relaxed than I'd ever seen her. A good orgasm will do that and her nipples are still leaking.

"How did that taste?"

"Surprisingly creamy and sweet," I say.

"Knew it would be your thing."

Both stylists return with the modified dress, unfazed by what just happened. They're used to this diva behavior. They're unbothered by the bound breasts and leaking nipples and orgasm. Maybe they also orally service the pop star. It's the world of celebrity, my boss told me last week, and I guess I'll have to get used to it.

xxx

Make or break situations are always terrifying. It's the most nerve-wracking moment of my life, more so than the photoshoot, except this time it's taking place in the conference room. Jonathan, our brand manager, is presenting slides on different products along with the marketing campaign.

Beads of sweat form beneath my armpits because I know what's coming. As part of my job, I've helped Jonathan craft this presentation. In hindsight this feels like giving ammunition to my enemies. We're not enemies, of course, it's just an expression. A form of self-destruction is happening.

And there it is -- the next slide -- a picture of me. No face, no body. Just a close-up shot of labia from a standing position. Filters and photoshop were used to make the image smooth. The tension in the room is palpable because everyone knows whose pussy that is. No one turns to look at me, sparing me of added shame. A few people twitch, squirming in their seats, resisting their urge to look at my face to see how fucking embarrassed I am.

The next slide is worse. A black and white image of labia from when I was laying down with my legs spread. Christina's milk droplets can be seen in the image, but nobody knows it's milk except for me. There's the company name and logo on the image, but make no mistake about it, the labia is the star of that image.

By the end of the presentation, the lights come on, and I'm sweating bullets beneath my outfit. A few eyes glance in my direction and I force myself to smile, pretending everything's cool. This is my new work-life reality. Is it worth the extra pay and job security? You be the judge. For what it's worth, the last few weeks, I'd never masturbated so much in my life.

People have random conversations while getting their stuff and leaving the conference room, but Gabby tells me to stick around. For whatever reason, she doesn't look happy, more like annoyed, as if I've done something to offend her. It's a perplexing gesture given my sacrifices for this company.

Everyone has left. We are alone here.

Gabby steps out of her heels, then she undoes her bottom while facing away from me. She's undressing in a dispassionate way, like she's at home and no one's watching, or at the doctor's office, ready to get the exam over with. She strips her bottom garments until bare, her butt looks larger without any clothes to cover it, and when she turns around I see a trimmed bush.

Her expression is still annoyed, which is strangely hot given that she's standing there barefoot with her pussy showing. She sits bare-assed on the conference table, legs spread.

"Christina requested that I do this," she says.

"Do what?"

"Let's not play dumb. I have a lunch meeting soon."

It takes a second to realize what this is about. Whatever the case, the last thing we need is someone walking in here and catching us like this. I stand in front of my exposed boss, her pussy is wet, her pubic hairs freshly trimmed, as if preparing for this.

After a moment's hesitation, I get on my knees for my boss. I can smell her aroma. I know she's aroused, even though she can't bring herself to look at me, with her head facing the other direction. I wonder if this is Gabby's first time, like it's my first time eating pussy. It's dominance and submission at the same time, in the office space with my boss -- something about the situation lights a fire within me.

Licking her wet folds is illuminating. She tastes good and her fluids stream down my tongue. I wonder how our relationship will change after this. I wonder if she'll be hostile toward me, or give me favoritism. Will she continue using me, or is this a one-time deal? The truth is, this is business mixed with pleasure, and we're both at the mercy of Christina's diva desires.

Gabby cums into my mouth and I have the confidence to swallow because I'd already gone nude and drank breast milk. Once you reach a certain point in your sexual experience, anything becomes possible, for better or worse. Her cum is a slow stream of thin fluid and her body trembles.

When she gets on her knees and returns the favor, it feels right and wrong at the same time. This is my boss, after all. The woman who commands any room and built this company from the ground up. She was the one who hired me, now she's sticking her tongue inside me and I can tell that's a blow to her pride. Giving oral sex to her youngest employee must be demoralizing, but she hums and moans while doing it. I want to inquire later if she has experience doing this, assuming she ever wants to discuss this with me.

I cum into her mouth, she flinches, but she doesn't stop. I resist the urge to do something romantic like rubbing my fingers through Gabby's hair, but that seems too personal. She might take it as an insult. To be honest, there's something so very deviant about having a reluctant boss sucking you off for the sake of keeping a VIP business partner happy.

Gabby fixes her outfit and she avoids eye contact. It's super awkward, a different kind of awkward than during the nude photoshoot, because at least that was with like-minded people. She grabs a tissue and wipes her hands and mouth.

"Have a good lunch," she says.

"I will, thank you."

She tries to maintain professionalism and composure as she heads for a lunch meeting. I hang around the empty conference room for a moment to clear my head and relax my legs. My sex still tingles. Imagining my boss having lunch while the taste of my fluids are still in her mouth is oddly satisfying.

I get my phone and send Christina a 'thank you' text message.

The End

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