The interview room was stifling. The air conditioning wheezed weakly, unable to combat the sweltering heat of the Texan sun.
Nikki sat near the front, her white blouse clinging to her curves in the most tantalizing way, the open neckline offering a deliberate glimpse of her cleavage.
The room was a modernized attempt at sophistication, but it couldn't quite escape the suffocating cowboy aesthetic.
Wooden beams, leather accents, and faded paintings of ranch life filled the space. She rolled her eyes at the unnecessary rustic charm.
Around her, three other candidates waited. All men. Their suits were either too tight, too loose, or laughably cheap, and their nerves were palpable.
She leaned back in her chair, exuding effortless confidence.
Her presence was magnetic. Subtle glances flicked her way, quick and guilty.
The man nearest to her sipped nervously from his coffee cup, trying and failing not to stare at the slight rise of her chest with every breath.
She arched her back slightly, pushing her breasts forward just enough to make the man choke.
Amateurs, she thought with a smirk.
The memories crept in unbidden, vivid and electric. The cameras. The hot lights. Antonio barking orders.
Her body moving like a symphony of sin, every motion orchestrated to drive men wild. She had been a star in that world, a goddess to those who worshipped with their eyes and hands.
She knew this scene.
She would suddenly slip her hands over her thighs and the men would watch.
She would open her legs giving the camera a nice view of her pink cunt.
As she pulled the panties to the side and she would play with her clit until she came.
And the men would equally take out their dicks from their pants and stroke themselves.
She would get on all fours and take one in her mouth, the other would kiss her thighs raise her skirt then spread her legs and enter her from behind and she would moan wet and ready.
The other would get under her take her tits in his mouth, graze her nipples between his teeth while rubbing her clit and she would be a moaning aching mess.
The men around her reminded her of those sets. How their hands would twitch as she slid her palms slowly over her thighs.
How their breaths would catch when she spread her legs, panties pulled aside, giving the camera, and the world, a perfect view.
Her smirk deepened. She'd been good at it. No, the best. That's why Antonio was desperate to get her back.
She'd been his moneymaker, his prized possession. But those days were over. She wasn't a toy anymore.
Still, the thought of teasing the shy one in the oversized suit stirred something wicked in her.
He sat on the far end, fumbling nervously with his notes.
His tie was askew, his glasses slightly fogged. He was a deer in headlights, and she was the predator.
She could almost taste his inexperience. His innocence. If she wanted, she could have him unraveling beneath her in minutes, trembling and begging as she guided him to a world he'd never known.
Her eyes locked onto him, and he froze, his breath hitching. She leaned forward slightly, the curve of her lips predatory. She knew what she was doing, and so did he.
"Miss Nikki," the receptionist called, snapping her out of her reverie. "It's time for your interview."
She rose gracefully, ignoring the stifled gasps from the other men. But as she passed the shy one, she paused.
Her fingers slid a card into his pocket with practiced ease, her touch lingering just enough to make him shiver.
"Call me, sweet boy," she whispered, her voice low and intimate, her lips brushing against his ear.
He sat frozen, his cheeks flaming red, his breath shallow as she walked away, heels clicking like a siren's call.
When she stepped into the office, she didn't need to look back to know he was still sitting there, clutching the card like it was a lifeline, utterly bewitched.