The sound of her slickness is filling the compact space of the car as I force her to watch herself as she comes. She shakes and convulses as her pussy, literally, drips all over the seat, coating the leather.
"There it is, Good Girl. Always so compl...
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Smash into you ~ Beyoncé
I wave frantically at the only empty taxi I can spot. The yellow carriages are assembled in lines amongst each other, occupying both lanes of the street. New York's rush hour is no joke and thought London was bad. I'm dying for anything including caffeine right now, I'm not a huge coffee drinker as I've always preferred tea and hot chocolate but today, my energy levels fall a unit lower every time I bat my lashes. There's a new hotspot in Brooklyn called 'Feel good pastries' and there's just something about their coconut cream cake, especially when you pair it with a white mocha. My stomach is growling just thinking about it.
With impulse, I damn near throw myself in front of the yellow vehicle. I refuse to suffer any longer. I've been shooting all day with Fenty and rehearsing for Rihanna's first Savage X Fenty show. It's been draining and I've been pushing myself harder than I normally would. It's the first black-owned high profile business I'm modelling for in two years and I'm trying to give it my best. My modelling career took off when I finished my Forensic Sciences degree. Some would debate that it was the perfect time but it occasionally keeps me up at night.
See, my Fathers, they're a little different to most I guess you could say. Mafia doesn't usually fit the agenda of most parental roles. Apart from firearm training and Krav-Maga practice, I grew up watching a lot of television, specifically 'CSI' and 'Unsolved Cases' alongside 'Girlfriends' of course. So Forensics did become a huge passion of mine, but fashion joined shortly. My Fathers gave me what others would call, creative freedom. I never had to participate in the family business, I could do whatever I pleased and they'd just support me along the way.
However, they did make sure I perfected the basic survival skills, you know, for survival. On the twelfth night of August, I went out with a friend to the opening of a new bar in London for my twentieth birthday, they snapped a pic, posted it on Instagram, the world went nuts and here I am five years later.
Opening the car door once it comes to a halt, I'm greeted by a silver-headed driver. I slide onto the leather seats, careful to not touch too much and rush out the address. I could say it's because I don't want to get my fingerprints over everything but that's a lie. I'm a little bit of a germs freak. I tend to clean everything that could have a chance of touching me. Even my station in the studio. The brushes, compact cases, mirrors and everything else that accompanies hair and makeup. Remembering the eleven-hour day I've had causes me to sigh.
As blessed as I am to be given the chance to work with Rihanna and such an inclusive brand, It's hard. Waking up at five am in the morning to be dolled up whilst half asleep, the flashing lights don't stop as you whizz through nineteen to twenty-six outfits in as little as two hours. I'm often left starving regardless of the huge buffet that is provided at each shoot. Being quite self-aware, I'm noticing I have approximately fifteen minutes before I develop a hunger attitude.
This traffic needs to get the memo and fast. In Egypt, we'd have gotten out of the car to start screaming at the other drivers by now. We Egyptians are quite heads-on and confrontational. It's a huge contrast to my people-pleasing tendencies. I'll be a skeleton by the time we get there, dead of hunger is what my Fathers will have to engrave on my tombstone. I mumble in my native tongue under my breath as the resembling vehicles in front move at an agonisingly slow pace.
