The success of the modelling agency was now beyond all expectations. Rose's name seemed to bring more and more fame, making her almost the only spearhead for the agency, the only woman able to carry the burden of being the best.
She obviously felt no burden; she loved what she did, and she loved the man who had allowed her to do this, showing him every night in bed.
The revenue allowed the agency to expand, bringing new faces into its ranks and managing to steal a few famous names from rival agencies. Among them, the president had kept an eye on a model who boasted an incredible career but was brought to ruin by an incompetent manager.
The news of a breach in the contract between the model and the agency was not long in coming, and the president did not miss the chance to have a model still on the rise for his agency.
Camille obtained an invitation to the agency's party via her manager. When she heard about the party invitation, the model smiled to herself. It was her best chance to get back on the cover, proving once again how much better she could be than all the other models.
On the night of the party, Camille knew what had to be done; she had been in that world long enough to know whom to get close to. Wearing a long midnight blue dress with a slit between the legs and thin straps, her entrance attracted the attention of those present. Finally spotting the charming president, she approached him with all her femininity and sensuality.
During the party, she began flirting with the president without hesitation, heedless of other guests or jealous rivals. Camille wanted to shine again like never before; she had to excel overall, and having the president on her side would make things much easier.
To her misfortune, the president's beautiful fiancée was not the kind of woman to let such behaviour slide. Engaged in conversation with other female colleagues, she noticed a few minutes later what was going on between her boyfriend and the model.
Apologizing with a smile, she turned away from the all-female group and walked towards the couple, stroking the blood-red dress that pushed up her generous 32F and flaunted her toned legs. Just before entering the model's field of vision, Rose pulled out the fakest smile before breaking off the conversation.
"My love," greeted Rose, kissing her own man's lips, "I've missed you."
The British model finally turned towards the woman, who seemed overly friendly towards her boyfriend. Despite her smile, her eyes threw venomous daggers at the model.
"Darling, this is Camille," said the man, perfectly aware of what was happening but by now accustomed to such situations: "a Spanish model I wanted to work with us."
"After the dissolution of the contract with those clowns, I am free to decide what I want," said Camille, sipping the champagne in her glass. "I want to be the number one model, and I think you are capable of making me so," she finished, smiling.
Rose felt stymied by her words. Number one was her, and no one else. What Camille wanted to do was surpass her in the rankings. The British girl was not going to let the Spanish model succeed in her plan without fighting for first place.
"It's a shame, but the agency already has the number one model." Rose smiled, narrowing her eyes. "You can always settle for second place."
"The agency is expanding, and a lot of things are going to change." Camille smiled in turn, crossing her gaze with the British model. "Second place suits lower-charge models." "Maybe you can settle for looking at my back."
"You haven't even been hired yet, and you're already trying to outdo me." "The modelling world is competitive," laughed Rose, clutching her man's arm and pushing her large breasts against him. "Maybe you should be careful; flying too high leads to burning your wings."
Camille's grip on the glass barely stiffened, and the glass made a little noise of straining but did not shatter as the Spanish model took the moral slap in the face.
The woman had heard about the famous Rose, the model who came from nowhere and quickly became a well-known star. Arrogant and narcissistic, she thought she could touch the sky with one finger. She aimed for the highest peak, but the place was too small for both of them. If Camille had wanted to excel, she would have had to settle the threat in British garb.
"You..." began Camille, but was nipped in the bud.
"Girls, don't start this conversation here," interjected the president, a small note of irritation in his voice; "we're at a party; you have to have fun." It's a good time to release tension, not create new ones. "So, I don't want to hear such talk, clear?"
They both looked at the man, who remained completely silent as he listened to the exchange of venomous banter between the two models. It was hard to admit that imagining those naked bodies tangling with each other was so arousing that they began to sweat, but the party had to go on.
The two models nodded, stifling their anger at each other to temporarily calm down. The two of them would surely have a chance to deepen their discussion later, as they were both aiming for the same result.
"Great, girls. That's how I want you. Now if you'll excuse me, Camille. "Rose and I need to continue the round of goodbyes," smiled the president, taking the model's hand and kissing it on the back. "I hope to work with you a lot."
"I hope so too," she smiled.
Rose and Camille exchanged another long glance before breaking eye contact and not crossing paths again for the rest of the evening.
***
The following day, Rose was busy with some shots for the magazine, being isolated for a few hours while her man took time out to fill in all the backlog of paperwork. In the model's head, however, remained the feeling that she had somehow offended the love of her life with her behaviour during the party.
She was like that. a swaggering and invincible warrior, ready to win any battle that stood in the way of success but deeply nervous about personal affections. She was genuinely afraid that she had offended her better half; when she entered into competition with another woman, it was hard to stop.
"I will go and apologise to him." "Tonight I'll have to put myself completely out there to lift his spirits," Rose thought as she posed.
As soon as the photo shoot was over, she would go to the president's office to apologise. She loved him, and she didn't want to make him suffer for such stupid things.
***
Camille walked proudly through the lobby of the agency, feeling the gazes of many people resting on her. The men struggled not to open their mouths as she passed, stunned by her beauty. The models watched with jealousy as her long, sexy legs emerged from her tight leather dress, where small white pearls encircled her pelvis, from which the laces of her black thong sprouted.
Her bare back was a blank canvas for the small tattoo under her left shoulder blade, a black rose with a protruding thorn, in the perfect view given the lack of a bra. The receptionist's eyes fixed on the nipples that pointed into the fabric of her dress, carefully encircling her modest 34Cs.
Carrying her daring look with elegance and sensuality, the Spanish model walked smoothly past the receptionist's desk.
Camille was ready to sign her new contract, but she would not allow herself to start from the bottom. She already wanted to be the unique and inimitable model of the up-and-coming agency, to excel over all the others. The only way to do this was to get into the president's good graces right away, make him hers and only hers, and pave the way for her success.
"I will overshadow that arrogant bitch," thought the Spaniard, tightening her lips. "Once I steal the president's heart, she will no longer be a problem."
The lift doors opened, already revealing a young girl with a clipboard in her hand, waiting. Camille's eyes focused on the girl, who immediately lowered her gaze, unable to stare into the model's merciless eyes. With a heavy step, the Spanish model's heel echoed in the lift's passenger compartment, as a warning to the young woman who almost jumped out of the small space.
"Excuse me," she said hastily, stepping out of sight.
Camille smiled as the doors closed in front of her. The president's office was on the top floor, in a penthouse used as an office. She had never been there but had heard of that office, which was spacious and luxurious, a place for women like herself.
Thanks to her manager, she had learned that the agency's top bitch was too busy on a photo shoot, giving her the material time to convince the president to make her number one, replacing Rose.
"Come on in, Camille."
Just before there was a knock on the door, the president's voice invited the model in. Camille seemed surprised by the prescience of her future boss, discovering that the young man was full of surprises. She would enjoy discovering them all during her stay. Once inside, she closed the door behind her.
"Come on in, have a seat," the president's smile was friendly and welcoming, "one of my secretaries alerted me to your arrival."
The study was large enough to hold a crystal table on which lay a silver plate and two glasses, together with a bottle of brandy. On the sides were two black leather sofas, shiny and clean. Going deeper, the president's dark wooden desk, its gold plate, and his work laptop. The padded chair looked comfortable, as did the two chairs on the other side of the desk, where other people could sit.
"The girl in the lift," smiled the model, stepping over the chair and sitting directly on a corner of the desk.
The president did not lose his smile, already knowing the type of woman in front of him. He could tell her to sit in the chair, but Camille was a free and untamable spirit, so he remained silent on the matter.
"I think your manager has already told you everything, so all that remains is your signature," he said, handing her a pen and pushing the paper toward her with his hand.
Camille stared intently into the president's eyes, leaning towards him to write sensuously but without signing anything yet. Instead, she pushed the paper towards the man, who was standing up on the desk.
"I hope to get some... special promotion soon," the model said, running her tongue over the pen as she looked at the man.
His face seemed to blush. Camille was a sexy woman who didn't mince words and demanded what she wanted in no uncertain terms. She wanted him, she wanted agency exclusivity, and she wanted to be number one. She had already expressed it, and she would do anything to get it.
Without waiting any longer, Camille got off the desk and walked over to the president, sitting on his lap. She could feel the man's erection in his trousers, and with one hand she began to feel the hardness of what he would soon take for himself. Licking her lips, her eyes flashed with a lustful light.
"What the fuck do you think you're doing, bitch?" Rose's voice thundered through the office.
The British girlfriend entered the office, her beige jacket half-open, revealing her babydoll and black garter belt for the photo shoot, slamming the door behind her, and staring furiously at the woman next to her man. Camille shifted her gaze to her, smiling just before turning to the president, grabbing his face in her hands, and sticking her tongue in his mouth.
Rose's eyes went wide, and she paced the distance between her and the couple with large strides as the Spanish model let out moans of pleasure as she kissed the president, dropping her jacket in the process.
The girlfriend's hand firmly grasped her rival's hair, tugging her away from the president. Camille let out a long moan of pain, bringing her hands to the back of her head as she felt herself being pulled back.
"Ouuuh! Bitch!"
Pushing her away, Rose stood between the president and the model, looking furiously at the woman who staggered on her heels, leaning against the wall to keep from falling.
"Don't you ever dare go near him again, you damn bitch," Rose hissed through clenched teeth.
Camille recovered, feeling her head throb with pain, moving away from the wall and approaching the model menacingly.
"Don't you ever touch my hair again, Malparida!"
Quickly, the Spanish woman fired a slap that struck Rose full in the face, pushing her head to the side as her cheek burned. The British model turned with a murderous look, slapping her rival's face in turn, who grunted from the force of the blow as she cashed in.
A few seconds later, the two women flew at each other, their hands buried in each other's hair as they pulled and pushed hard, grunting and moaning at the pain they inflicted on each other.
The president watched as the two models' heads were pulled to the side, their faces contorted into masks of pain and anger as they staggered around the office, colliding with the desk several times.
"Let me go, bitch!" "Let go of me!" screamed Camille, her voice pulling tight from the strain of resisting and inflicting pain.
"Is that all you've got, bitch?!" growled the British model, sinking her nails even deeper into her rival's scalp.
Camille howled in pain, instinctively backing away until she stumbled onto the small sofa behind her. Both models fell together, one on top of the other, losing their grip on the rival's hair from the fright of the fall.
Rose landed on Camille, then slid to the floor as the model felt her breasts being crushed by the British girl's larger pair.
The man rose from his chair, resting his hands on the desk, and looked at the two women, suddenly concerned for their physical health. Noticing that both were far from serious damage, his heart began to beat regularly again.
Camille noticed the bulge in the man's trousers, aroused by the sight of his girlfriend and the sexy model fighting over him.
That was the key. Camille would have to prove herself so much better than Rose that she would have exclusive rights to that erection. That way, she would get what she wanted, eliminating the competition without too much trouble.
Feeling the British model's hand lean on the small sofa to help her up, the Spanish girl let herself drop dead weight on her rival, who slammed her back against the floor as the model hit her.
"Bitch, get off me!" moaned Rose.
"Oh no, bitch." "Not until he knows I'm the better woman," smiled Camille.
"Stay away from him, bitch," hissed the girlfriend, planting a hate-filled look at her rival. "He knows I'm the better woman."
Camille laughed but found herself grunting when she had to wrestle with the British model's strength. Their hands flew between them, each grasping the wrist of the other and trying to overcome the rival force. Despite the advantageous position, Camille felt herself being pushed away, incredulous that Rose was stronger than she was.
Gritting her teeth, Camille tried to push her rival back, but eventually Rose managed to reverse positions, crushing the rival's wrist to the ground and releasing her hand from the enemy's grip, which she kept in her rival's hair, just as Camille's hand was entwined in Rose's black hair. The British model looked tauntingly at her rival as she tried to free herself.
Camille seemed to diminish her attempts to reverse positions, hissing her rage at her rival as she succumbed to the obvious strength of the rival model. She despised not being able to pin Rose under her, but resigned herself to having to remain in that position.
"The only thing I have to do is prove I'm better than you," spat the Spanish model, hissing with a devious smile on her lips, "by fucking you in front of him like the slut you are."
Camille's hand drew her rival's head to her, the Spanish girl's tongue suddenly invaded Rose's mouth. She opened her eyes wide in surprise as she felt the foreign body make its way to her throat. Rose's tongue immediately began to fight the invader, pushing it back and licking hard as the British model grunted.
"Not bad," Rose said, breaking off the kiss, "but you're not at my level yet."
"Bitch," Camille's voice was brimming with venom, "let me go, and you will see that I am too much for you."
Smiling, Rose released her rival, standing up and leaving room for the Spanish model to do the same. Moving back a few steps, the Spanish model barely turned toward the president.
Biting her lip, Camille's hands lowered the straps of her dress, which folded in on themselves, revealing the woman's naked, statuesque body.
The woman's red nipples were already erect, popping out like springs as soon as the dress lowered past their level, descending towards her hips, finally exposing her blue thong.
Rose could see how her man's eyes roamed over the damn hot body of her rival, who also lowered her thong to remain completely naked.
Pushing her dress away with her foot, Camille smiled mischievously, slowly turning to show her gorgeous body to the man in the room, then planting an arrogant look in her rival's eyes.
Rose gritted her teeth, quickly lowering the doll, leaving her large breasts free, which bounced slightly before settling.
Without breaking eye contact with the woman, her fingers fiddle with the garter belt, completely freeing the British woman's sexy legs into the air.
Smiling, Camille began to approach, ready to enter the battle. Rose squinted her eyes, angry and increasingly convinced that she had to chastise the model in the worst possible way.
Within inches, the models grabbed each other by the hair, then pushed their mouths together to kiss, directly with force and passion.
The two models embraced, almost merging, Camille's modest breasts squashed inside Rose's larger couple, which engulfed the rival pair as their nipples crossed in the middle, rubbing together.
Their long, sexy legs slowly touched and caressed each other; their smooth bellies pressed together as the two models began to slowly grind their womanhood together as they silently kissed.
Rose felt the rancour continue to burn within her as she felt the Spanish model respond to her moves in the same way. Camille imitated everything the British model did, trying to completely outdo her with her skills.
The two girls squirmed, holding each other, squeezing their pussies hard together, working them with rotating movements, rising and falling, before slamming them together with light grunts.
Making a decisive movement, the two models spread their long legs wider, levering their pussies deeper against their rivals.
Their juicy lips continued to remain sealed as their tongues fought a never-ending, violent but passionate sword dance, entwining and rolling each other, eliciting the first moans locked within the sealed, wet kiss.
The president reached for his now-throbbing erection and began to masturbate, watching the two models fuck in front of him for him. Each moan of the models was like an electric shock of excitement running through his body.
The more time passed, the more the sexual arousal of the two models grew, as they thrust their femininities forward with more rhythmic thrusts, working each other harder and harder, trying to bring themselves closer and closer to orgasm.
Pausing the kiss to catch their breath, the two girls' bodies leaned back, held by their hands on each other's shoulders as they thrust their hips together, and watched their bodies grind rhythmically together.
Their firm thighs squeezed tightly together, muscles visible in the flesh from exertion. The lips of their flowers scraped incessantly, making a rough, sensual sound. The president watched this unique spectacle of two of the sexiest models of his life in an all-female contest.
Slowly, the grunts became moans and groans of pleasure. Both leaned back against each other, foreheads pressed together, lips inches apart. Each could taste the taste of the other's lips and remember it even without feeling it by touch.
Their legs bent slightly to give more leverage to their hips, which were pressing and grinding harder. The two pussies pressed and pulled apart, but continued to rub each other relentlessly, drawn to each other in a whirlwind of jealousy and competition.
Rose could feel Camille's nose caressing hers, gently pricking her face close to her left eye. Camille could feel the British model's warm breath on her skin.
They kissed again, each looking into the other's eyes with defiance and deep, warm flashes of excitement. Each was trying to push the other over the edge, trying to win a psychological war in the ongoing battle.
They stood, grinding their pussy into that of their rival for several minutes, resisting their own increasingly overwhelming pleasure.
"I can feel how wet you are, bitch," Camille hissed.
"Never as wet as you, bitch," retorted Rose.
Each model could feel the thick, sticky fluids begin to flow down their legs, mixing in the centre of their struggle.
Suddenly, Camille's body began to shake more; the girl tightened her lips, but the pleasure was becoming too much for her. Abandoning the kiss, the Spanish model threw her head back, gaping as her orgasm hit her.
Rose held her rival's body tightly, smiling wickedly as she felt her jerk wildly. The British model pushed her pussy deep, still grinding her rival in the midst of her orgasm.
"Oh Goooooood!" moaned Camille.
The pleasure still increasing, Rose continued to grind mercilessly as Camille's pussy erupted incessantly for several seconds.
"I'm more woman than you, slut," smiled Rose.
Camille remained panting as her orgasm subsided. She was so close—so close to forcing Rose to cum—but lost the contest of resistance. The Briton turned out to be a tougher opponent than she expected.
"It's not over yet, Bitch!" growled the Spanish girl.
Camille pulled Rose down, pushing her underneath her, entangling each other as their bodies melted together. Camille kissed Rose deeply, slapping her wet pussy into her rival's.
Both took to moaning in pleasure; grunts and moans echoed from their sealed mouths as Camille closed her eyes in exertion. The Spanish model was trying to push her rival over the edge with everything she had.
The pugnacious tongues thrust and licked relentlessly, Camille sucking greedily on Rose's tongue as she heard her moan more and more. The tongues danced in one mouth and the other, relentlessly and brutally.
The Spanish model's hands flew to the British model's large, firm breasts, massaging them and pinching her nipples gently.
The British model pushed her tongue harder against Camille's, lowering one hand and starting to stroke the Spanish model's pussy. Camille suddenly felt herself on the defensive, panting heavily in a duel of tongues as she felt every cell in her body scream.
The two mouths were sealed, but occasionally a small portion of the tongue could be seen coming out of the lock, duelling and licking each other. Camille squeezed her eyes shut, trying to push Rose's tongue back, first to the side, then back. Rose responded in the same way, and the two tongues stalled for a few seconds, straining against each other.
The Spanish model felt her tongue muscles burning, beginning to lose evidence of strength as the rival tongue pushed hers to the side. Rose felt more confident, still advancing into the rival's mouth. With each lash, Rose and Camille's tongues fought in their mouths, with the Spanish model feeling how her rival pushed her tongue further and further back.
The Spanish model could not believe what she was hearing. She was losing the kissfight with the whore she had to defeat. Her tongue was being slowly pushed back; she could not push her rival away from her mouth, and her excitement was increasing with each passing second. She was better than the British model; she had to win. The Spanish model could not allow her rival to defeat her; otherwise, she could not get what she wanted.
With a desperate gesture, Camille pulled Rose's hair away from her face. The British model groaned in surprise, unable to stop Camille from making her next move. The Spanish model licked her rival's neck, making her moan as her mouth descended lower.
Suddenly, Camille's mouth closed on Rose's pink buds, her tongue flicking like a whip at the rival nipples as her mouth sucked in the flesh gently. Rose opened her eyes wide, feeling her body become incandescent from the rival move.
Moaning and biting her lips, Rose tried to pull her rival's mouth away from her breasts to bring her back to a kissfight, but although she tugged at the Spanish model's hair, the rival's mouth did not leave her breasts.
The moans became louder and louder, and Rose felt her body shaking more and more vehemently. She was going over the edge; she would not hold out much longer. Driven by this realization, Rose tried harder, using her hand to massage her rival's pussy faster.
Despite her best efforts, Rose felt the long-retained orgasm continually hitting her defenses, increasing the excitement she felt. She had resisted that orgasm for so long that by now she did not even know how to resist it. The end came suddenly but surely; Rose's mouth opened in a guttural moan as her pussy erupted its prized juices.
"Nooooooo!" moaned Rose loudly.
Like her rival before her, Camille smiled and continued to please the British model. Her mouth continued to gnaw greedily on the enemy’s breast as if it were her only reason for living at that moment.
Rose moaned again and again, incessant as her orgasm continued unabated. She had lost the psychological edge; it was all a matter of time now. Rose suddenly felt the weight of rival power; the Spanish model was constantly threatening her victory and her reign.
Both felt their femininities throbbing, wet and sweaty, claiming the last act—a clash in which they both played it all out, one orgasm after another, second after second. Panting and controlling their breathing, the two models exchanged glances mixed with hatred and jealousy, both aware of what was coming.
The final duel between their pussies and clitorises pressed together and grinded relentlessly, more than they had done so far. Each model wanted to take the other over the ultimate limit, pushing themselves even further to prove how superior they were over the other, inflicting on their rival the humiliation of defeat as they basked in the euphoria of victory.
"Bitch, you're mine," Rose hissed, sitting up.
Camille growled low, sitting up in turn as she shot a look of hatred at her rival.
"I will fuck you to death, bitch," the Spanish model said, licking her lips.
Now seated in front of each other, with their legs resting on the carpet, the two models glared at each other, smelling their juices permeating the fabric beneath them.
There was a competitive and determined light in their eyes, leading both girls to slowly spread their legs and move their hips toward their rival.
Without hesitation, Rose slammed her pussy forward into Camille's, starting the fight that would end in total defeat for either of them.
Camille grunted, responding similarly and bringing her womanhood even closer to that of her rival. Both knew they would not stop until one of them was defeated, and both were intent on winning.
Their juicy, wet lips pressed together as the two models shifted their hips in opposite directions so that their pussies pressed firmly and grinded together.
As soon as their clitorises brushed against each other, they both felt a sudden electric excitement run through their bodies, trembling and arching for a second.
Both still felt the intense pleasure of their previous orgasms, feeling lust pounding through their bodies and minds as they continued a primal struggle, a slow, sensual rubbing of their labia and clitorises.
Each thrust was charged with jealousy and passion; each thrust was an arrow against the invisible wall resisting orgasm; and each second of grinding was a plea for continued battle.
Their thick, round lips pressed and slid together, and Rose and Camille could feel each other's texture directly inside their minds. The sensation of their lips pulling and opening on each other as they changed angles, smelling the scent of their delicious perfumes mingling in the air,
Their thick, hard diamonds caressed each other repeatedly, pulsing with pleasure every second, a threat of orgasm growing closer and closer and a promise of a continued, perpetual duel despite the exalted pleasure.
Both girls were trying hard to push their clitters together, make them touch, crush, and rub each other, trying to bring their rival closer and closer to orgasm.
Rose and Camille swayed their hips in harder and slower movements, squeezing their wet flowers, twisting them, and massaging them repeatedly.
Camille's hands grasped those of the British model, pulling her rival to her and bringing their bodies closer together. From their lips came their moans and groans with increasing intensity as their femininities pulsed with a powerful orgasm, which came first for the British model, erupting and moaning loudly.
Camille felt the warm liquid flowing against her but could not smile at her small victory as not even a second passed as her pussy exploded in her orgasm, drenching the English pussy.
With trembling bodies, they arched their bodies even further, pressing their groynes together and continuing to torment each other even in mutual orgasm, feeling their swollen clits continue to duel together.
Staring into each other's eyes, the two models helped each other with their hands to open their labia to perfectly reveal their battling clitoral regions, pressing them together in those few inches of life.
Their legs spread to the limit so as not to hide from the battle, inviting their rival to give everything to win completely against the model's body in front of them.
Their clitorises were still throbbing with life, the pleasure totally out of proportion, both of them unimagining such an arduous test to overcome to prove themselves the better woman.
Rose threw her head back, feeling a new orgasm explode inside her, her clitoral region sending waves of unparalleled pleasure and ecstasy.
Camille moaned gutturally seconds later, unable to resist the sensation of rival juices crashing against her.
He watched as the two models' bodies jerked and trembled, arching together as they reached orgasm. He was intoxicated by the sweet, sexy moans of the two girls fucking just a few feet away from him.
Rose and Camille moaned and groaned before resuming grinding their groynes together, rubbing every inch of femininity into each other through little orgasms that made the models' bodies tremble in turn.
The strokes gradually became stronger and more intense, thrusting and ramming hard with their diamonds, shifting their weight to opposite sides to rub each other even harder.
The models wiggled their femininities in spinning motions, still moaning with excitement but feeling their concentration increase to continue grinding their clitters together with more force.
Their bodies arched and rubbed each other incessantly, each feeling their bodies like a heavy boulder that they struggled to keep moving.
The moans of pleasure turned into cries of agony, accompanied by each stroke of their pussies, demanding an end to this long duel.
Each orgasm seemed to drain the models' strength more, as they anchored themselves in the idea that their rival might surrender that second later than they did.
So neither tried to stop; both tried to keep tightly in contact, their legs spread wide open so that their pussies could split and grind together.
The two models fought each other, rubbing their crotches together, wearing each other down in a merciless battle. Rose could see the hatred in Camille's eyes, just as the Spanish model could see the anger on the British model's face.
For fifteen agonising minutes, the models' hips continued to grind and thrust together, pain mixed with pleasure beginning to take over.
Rose could feel how her clitter was no longer as turgid and firm as before; she felt her diamond could collapse at any moment.
The British model desperately rubbed her pussy against Camille's, hoping to bring her over the edge so that she could soothe the conflicting sensations inside her.
Camille felt her clitoris deflate and retreat inside her, hoping that her rival would be in a worse situation. The outcome of the duel was only a matter of pride and endurance—a fight that only the best woman could carry out.
Minute after minute, the models' bodies arched in sexual agony, suddenly collapsing onto the carpet as their moans echoed through the room.
Suddenly, Rose felt Camille's hand invade her pussy; two fingers entered her labia, beginning to massage the inside.
The British model pushed her hand deep inside, not wanting to allow her rival to win at the very last second.
With their bodies pressed together and their nipples pressed against each other, their hips moved over each other's hands as the two models looked into each other's eyes in this sexual epic.
The fight became more frenetic than before; both could feel the fatigue increasing so much that it clouded their vision; the excitement and pain grew hand in hand; it was impossible to say when it would all explode.
Each tried to convince themselves to keep fighting, shouting to themselves that they only needed one second more than their rival to win, but seeing the enemy model continue to fight was a constant emotional slap in the face.
The fear of not being able to inflict more damage on the rival, the increasingly overwhelming defeat that could put a dent in one's pride, and the unawareness of who could resist the rival's attacks the most
Each model's fingers played and tormented the rival clitorises, making them the target of a long and exhausting sexual struggle. Each was panting and moaning into the other's mouth, beginning to kiss each other to give as much pleasure as possible to the rival model.
Their sexy, sweaty legs jerked and trembled in agony, their moans echoing in their minds and bodies through the frantic rhythm of that last duel.
Rose felt her body screaming as she continued to resist Camille's onslaught, hoping that the Spanish model was further behind her and would give in out of the blue.
They began a brutal rhythm of thrusts and massages, of torment and pain on their rival clit, each model aiming to give the rival model an absolute send-off with everything she had, feeling the end coming closer and closer.
Their eyes struggled to see the model in front of them despite their proximity. The kiss they were exchanging had cut off part of their air supply, leaving them with the precious feeling of the crazed beat of their hearts and exhausted bodies.
Each model felt the foreign body inside their pussy continue to fight and move like a snake, incredulous that their rival could continue at this pace and incredulous that they could continue like that. They were both at their climax; their endurance of the last spasms came just seconds before the end.
The models instinctively clenched their long, sexy legs, squeezing the rival hand inside them, screaming in pain and despair as they finally groaned, succumbing to the primal pleasure and abandoning all thought of resistance.
Rose screamed into Camille's mouth, feeling her pussy erupt for the last time, depriving her of every drop of strength and energy in her body, finally collapsing onto her back as Camille erupted in the same way less than a tenth of a second later, also descending onto her back.
The president watched in disbelief as the two models cummed at the same time, unaware of what had happened. Only Rose and Camille could know; it had all been too quick for the man to understand.
Camille's pussy had definitely succumbed after Rose's, perhaps at the same instant, but both models felt the end in the same way. No draw, despite the evidence, but a victory and a defeat. Rose looked up at the ceiling, now estranged from her memory as humiliation took possession of her.
Camille lay in the same way, her breathing laboured and her body on fire, but the knowledge of victory could only make her smile. Although it had not been a landslide victory, she had proved that she was the better woman. It was probably a matter of thousandths of a second, but she had orgasmed afterward, and that was enough.
Buoyed by the victory for sure, the Spanish model had to resort to everything she had left to be able to stand up, under the astonished gaze of her rival, who wondered how she could find that energy. Camille planted an arrogant but weary gaze on Rose's conquered body.
Striking not to stagger, the Spanish model approached her desk, taking her pen, and finally signing the contract of employment with a shaking hand. The model's hand dropped the pen, immediately grabbing the president's tie.
"The newcomer wants payment in advance."
Pulling the man to herself, Camille trapped the man's tongue in a long kiss, all under Rose's defeated gaze, too tired to move. A spectacle she never wanted to see was now projected before her without her being able to do anything about it.
Finally, the Spanish model cast one last glance at her rival on the ground before picking up her clothes and walking away smiling. She had no intention of wearing the dress; she wanted to show everyone what had happened. She had faced the queen and walked out with her head held high.
Rose remained silent as tears began to flow down her cheeks.
Defeated… or maybe not?
