Laetitia And Virginie: Enemies To The End

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Many thanks to Souche Tranin for getting me to write

this story, and to Laetitia Casta and Virginie Ledoyen

for being so attractive and open to nudity (you know,

there are such things as European actresses who don’t

do nude scenes, but they don’t get coverage in the

media). While most of the people mentioned are real,

this is purely FICTIONAL, people – especially with

regards to the opening scene, as I’m sure that’s not

really how she got the role (and with regards to

Laetitia and Monica – “that time at the Cannes Film

Festival” is elaborated on in “Falbala and Cleopatra”)

- and please,
no under-18s reading this. Praise or

complaint on the boards, or to me at

cindylover1969@yahoo.co.uk.

Tranin saw this story first, and pointed out that

while “Tout le monde en parle” is a real show (which

Virginie really did appear on, but after her interview

never again), it isn’t broadcast live but recorded on

Thursday and shown on Saturday; but then again, taping

it would ruin the effect of the story. (One final note

to British readers; there really is a French version

of “Top of the Pops” and it really is presented by a

woman called Ness.)

* * * * * * * * * *

Most good fantasies in the olden days started with

“Once upon a time.” With that in mind…

Once upon a time, in the far-off (depending what part

of the world you’re from) country of France, there

were two stunningly beautiful young women. One was a

model-actress with brownish hair and an awesome body

called Laetitia, the other was a black-haired actress

with an equally impressive form name of Virginie.

While they weren’t sisters or related in any way, the

two did have their similarities. For instance:

1. Both advertised L’Oreal, alongside such well-known

beauties as Heather Locklear, Jessica Alba, Beyonce

Knowles, Milla Jovovich and Ben Affleck.

2. Both were not averse to the odd bit of screen

nudity.

3. Both hated each other’s guts.

Now, this wasn’t widely known among the French showbiz

establishment, since neither had wanted their feud to

become public. Even the most determined hacks had

never heard a whisper of the curses Laetitia rained on

Virginie in private, or of the amount of spit Virginie

had hurled to the ground every time Laetitia’s name

was mentioned. However, if someone had known, it might

have made all the difference in the world to one

Saturday’s edition of “Tout le monde en parle.”

The guests were in the studio, the audience was in the

studio, and they were enjoying two hours or so of

pleasant-ish comedy and discussion. One of the guests

that evening was the stunning model-actress Laetitia

Casta, whose face was suffused with a healthy glow

from those rosy red cheeks… rosy red thanks to the

blood collecting in them on account of the similarly

alluring actress Virginie Ledoyen having her hands

wrapped tightly around the blonde’s throat, pinning

her to the table and throttling her while Laetitia

clawed furiously at the black-haired lady’s chest,

both spitting curses and insults at each other.

“SLUT!”

“TRAMP!”

“WHORE!”

“I’LL KILL YOU!”

“SEE YOU IN HELL!”

“LIKE I’LL BE DOWN THERE?!?!” Virginie snarled,

increasing her chances of doing so by ripping a huge

swathe of her opponent’s top off, and sending a large

section of the male viewers to heaven by exposing

Laetitia’s breasts to the cameras.

“YOU…!!!” Laetitia howled, and aimed her fingernails

at Virginie’s face, striking home, as the guards

rushed in to try and separate the two – whether or not

they had been waiting to see Miss Casta’s bountiful

boobs was unclear…

* * * * * * * * * *

To explain how Laetitia Casta and Virginie Ledoyen

ended up trying to kill each other on live TV, it’s

necessary to go back several years. All the way back

to the year 2000, when Laetitia had taken her

first baby steps in movies with “Asterix et Obelix

contre Cesar,” and was looking to do more than another

“Sports Illustrated” video. She had been getting some

offers – when you’re a young woman with a fantastic

body who has a casual attitude towards nudity, they

tend to come along – but nothing that had really

caught her fancy. Until word had gotten out that there

was a role in a Hollywood movie that would allow her

to work in exotic locations, give her a chance to work

with the director of “Trainspotting,” and have her

work with Leonardo DiCaprio. That was what had sold it

for Laetitia; even though she didn’t like to admit it,

she had adored “Titanic” and had carried a torch for

Mr. DiC for a while. Laetitia didn’t want to get her

hopes up when she first heard; there were so many

women wanting this role, but she thought she was in

with a chance. Twentieth Century Fox wouldn’t be

wanting a big name to draw any of the spotlight away

from him, and she was new enough so there wouldn’t be

a chance of that. And now there were only two people

in the running; she had to keep herself from breaking

the traffic laws as she drove to the hotel where she,

the other lady, Danny Boyle, and LEO!!!!! would go

through the final hurdles.

Laetitia felt like singing as she parked her car and

bounded up the steps to the lobby.

Fifteen minutes later, she ran out of the same doors,

her tears and rage speeding her up as she jumped into

her car and peeled away from the hotel.

Laetitia had tipped the doorman and the hotel

receptionist en route to the lift, and had actually

given in to her urge to start singing. Fortunately,

while she wasn’t a classically gifted chanteuse she

was hardly down there with Janet Jackson either, and

kept the other people amused through the two minutes

it took for the lift to arrive and get her to the top

floor. Of course, her beautiful body helped in the

case of the men.

La Casta kept trilling as she skipped through the

corridor towards the suite where the meeting would

take place. It took her about a minute to get there,

though if she had run there it would have taken less.

Finally she got to the room and tapped away,

la-la-la’ing to herself as she waited. After about two

minutes, during which she pressed her ears to the door

to try and hear anything that might have been

happening in there, the door opened and Laetitia was

greeted with the sight of a scruffy-looking man about

her age, who looked almost shocked to see her there.

“Good morning,” she said, extending her hand. “I’m

Laetitia Casta, and I’m here to discuss ‘The Beach’

with – ”

“You’re here early as well?” the SLM interrupted,

ignoring her hand. “The other one got here quickly as

well. Can’t see what’s so great about Spotty myself,

but then I’m not gay…”

Laetitia hadn’t realised that there’d be someone else

here as well; but then she figured that they were busy

people, they’d probably want to see as many as

possible at the same time. “How many others are

coming?”

“Probably just you and the other lady – they’re going

through the scene in there now…” the SLM led

Laetitia inside the suite, and the latter was

surprised that no one was in the main room. She had

really thought that they’d be discussing it right

there. The SLM read her mind, and pointed towards a

door in the rear. “In there.”

“Eccentric moviemakers, eh?” Laetitia thought, and

headed to the door, her scene in her hand even though

she had rehearsed it over and over until she knew the

watermarks by heart, never mind the dialogue. She

tapped on the doo nervously, and entered on hearing

the “Come in!,” hoping she could make a good first

impression on Leonardo DiCaprio and Danny Boyle.

Laetitia came thisclose to dying on the spot. Not

because she saw Leonardo looking right at her and

grinning with glee, but because he was lying on the

bed stark naked with his prick stiff and erect.

However, Laetitia couldn’t see it on account of it

being inside Virginie Ledoyen’s mouth.

Virginie was no stranger to on-screen nudity, and nor

was she any stranger to sex; she hadn’t been averse to

sharing her dark-haired charms with the boys in her

school, and had lost any real claim to living up to

her first name one warm summer evening at the age of

16. And now, here she was with the most famous cock

she had had in her mouth so far… a seething Laetitia

watched as the pale, beautiful young lady gobbled

Leonardo’s inches while he simply said nothing. His

facial expressions said everything as he felt Virginie

slurping away on him, milking his shaft and balls

while she moved between his legs, shaking her

nicely-shaped derriere for the benefit of the director

and anyone else who might have been watching.

Like Leonardo, Laetitia wanted to stick something long

and hard up Virginie’s ass; except in her case the

something was on the lines of a bayonet or a poker.

Here she was, determined to get the part on her own

merits, and this… this… this WHORE was doing it

the easy way! “CUNT!” Laetitia screamed, and spat on

Virginie’s ass cleft, before running out of the room

and bidding farewell to any English-language movies

for the time being, and swearing to never see anything

with him in it again. (Though she made an exception

for “Catch Me If You Can,” because Laetitia was a

massive Steven Spielberg fan.)

Leo was too busy moaning over Virginie’s mouth to

notice, but the director wasn’t. “Waste not, want

not,” he chuckled as he worked the saliva into

Virginie’s asshole. The director did not treat

Virginie’s rear entrance the way he treated his

characters onscreen; he massaged Laetitia’s saliva up

Miss Ledoyen as if he was making a flower out of clay,

his fingers almost disappearing up her anus as he

rubbed it in. Virginie, knowing and feeling that

Leonardo was about to let her have it, jerked her head

back from his bulging cock just in time for the tip to

dump its load on her lips. She got the full force of

his coming, listening to his groans as she pulled

along his shaft, giving his own coming some extra

help.

Now it was her turn to scream; the director’s cockhead

was up against her bum’s entrance, and he wasn’t slow

to go inside. The man practically drove Virginie’s

breath out as he rammed his prick inside, while a

heavy-breathing Leonardo got off the bed and moved out

of her line of vision. Where was he going? To get a

drink? A better view… then she felt the director

slapping her backside as he jerked his prick in and

out of her, while his hands rested on her thighs and

moved onto her well-trimmed cunt.

It bothered Virginie a little that Leonardo hadn’t

gone down on her… the man was so selfish – and then

she jerked upwards in shock, and a little pain.

Leonardo’s cock had forced its way past the director’s

fingers, and was sliding in and out of her snatch

while the director still pumped her butt, the men’s

grunts of satisfaction matching their strokes.

Thrusting along with them, Virginie dug her fingers

into the blanket and began shouting both their names

as her two future collaborators fucked both her holes,

praying that Leo had put on a condom and fearing the

director hadn’t…

She was right on both counts. Both Virginie and

Laetitia, by now far away in the back of a taxi, wept.

The former with delight, the latter with anger.

* * * * * * * * * *

The fact that “The Beach” hadn’t been a major hit

didn’t bother Virginie; she wasn’t into making movies

for cash or fame the way some of her colleagues were.

She also, contrary to what she told reporters, didn’t

have a problem with the pace of Hollywood or with some

of the scripts she had been offered; she could always

divide her time between France and La-La Land. The

real reason she had decided never to come back to

Hollywood was in a conversation at a party.

She was mixing and mingling with the crowd, fielding

compliments on her looks and praying that no one would

ask her for the umpteenth time what it was like

working with Leonardo. Didn’t these people read

interviews? Or anything?

“…that little lady from the movie?” she overheard a

portly gentleman asking his friend while she was

making some small talk, during which the L-word hadn’t

come up (he was telling her how nice it was that she

fitted in so well with the English-speaking cast, and

wondering why it was so much harder for ladies from

his own country).

“Yeah, nice little number,” the porker’s equally fat

friend replied.

“I don’t know why Leo okayed her if she was so bad in

bed,” said the first man as he wolfed down some

marshmallows and washed them down with Cointreau.

“He’s always banging on about how much better Casta

was – she kept him going for hours…”

Virginie could not believe what she’d heard; she

pretended she hadn’t heard it, and so did the man she

was talking to. So DiCaprio thought she was a crap

lay, and he was going around telling everyone about

it… and he was poking Laetitia Marie Laure Casta as

well? She suddenly wished the scene of him drowning in

“Titanic” hadn’t just been special effects, and

dragged her mind over to her forthcoming deal with

L’Oreal. They appreciated her, even if Mr. Big Movie

Star didn’t.

* * * * * * * * * *

The fact that “The Beach” hadn’t been a major hit was

of some consolation to Laetitia, who knew that if she

had gotten the role and it had yielded the same

result, Virginie Ledoyen would never have let her

forget it. Laetitia still had her success with “La

Bicyclette Bleue” and other movie offers, and there

was the Marianne honour; no matter how many Mayors

said they’d do their own, SHE was the official model -

and a lot of people, especially ones with penises,

wouldn’t have had it any other way. (Several of them

were displeased with Evelyn Thomas getting the gig

some years later, but that’s another story.)

And then there was the money she was getting from her

L’Oreal contract. Laetitia, sitting there having some

breakfast, caught a glimpse of a woman reading a

magazine with one of her adverts on the back; she let

herself smile in satisfaction. It was all the sweeter

knowing that her deal was worth more than Virginie’s.

“Spare me a million francs?” asked the woman she had

come there to meet.

Laetitia looked up, and her heart filled with love at

the sight of Monica Bellucci; friend, colleague, and

secret lover. Ever since that time at the Cannes Film

Festival, Laetitia and Monica had been secretly

inseparable; Monica was back with her husband, but

they were both well aware of the company the Italian

sexpot was keeping. To their credit, no one involved

was ready to blab about it, not even after their first

movie together and the steamy sex scenes the two had

had (“Were you and Laetitia/Monica [delete according

to interviewer] really doing it?” was high on the

agenda of all questioners, to which Laetitia in

particular would reply “Of course we were really

kissing and naked together – special effects aren’t

that good”).

Now it would be about time for their next movie – both

agreed it would be best if they didn’t work together

constantly, say about once every two or three years.

Laetitia was normally delighted to see the woman, but

when she looked at Monica, she could tell something

was bothering her. “Monica?” she asked. “What’s

wrong?”

Monica proferred her a copy of an Italian magazine.

Laetitia’s nose wrinkled; she had no time for Italian

gossip rags, with their long-range lenses and

ill-founded speculation. “What are they saying about

me now?” she asked.

“It’s not you. It’s us,” Monica replied as the model

riffled through the magazine. “Dropping hints – what

young model is secretly seeing which big-breasted

actress?”

“Italy is full of big-breasted women,” Laetitia

pointed out. “Some of them like other women.”

“True, but someone’s going to come to the right

conclusion,” Monica replied. “They said that the two

were seen coming out of a restaurant in Tivoli

laughing and looking as if they were more than

friends…”

Although Laetitia had long since digested what she had

eaten in Tivoli, the memory made her stomach bubble.

“Ledoyen,” she said coldly.

“Casta,” Virginie said equally coldly.

She had been signed to L’Oreal in the wake of “The

Beach,” and had hardly done badly for herself from the

deal; but she had just been watching some TV, and seen

Laetitia pouting her way through another commercial.

Another commercial for which Laetitia was making more

money than she was. How DARE that… that… that

THING pull down more than she did? Virginie snapped

off the set angrily, fuming at how even the slightest

things could ruin her day. She didn’t drink, so having

some booze was out; she doted on her child, but she

couldn’t just pull her out of school. But there was

something else that she liked to do that helped cheer

her up.

Soon Virginie was taking a walk down the street,

keeping an eye out for admiring and occasionally

startled glances. She was wearing a light shirt

through which it was clear that she wasn’t wearing a

bra, and a happy little skirt that showed off

practically all of her legs. And, when the wind was

cooperative, a good deal more – as Bart Simpson had

said once, nothing like an unfurnished basement…

* * * * * * * * * *

Laetitia Casta agreed with Virginie Ledoyen on that

point, if not much else. No underwear made it a lot

easier and faster for Monica Bellucci to get to the

goods underneath her dress.

Monica loved running her hands up Laetitia’s thighs

with no panties to get in the way – just raw Laetitia,

all ready to eat. She relished feeling Monica’s hands

sliding up her thighs under the fabric, the dark

Italian moving slowly so both of them could enjoy the

feeling. With Monica’s hands resting on her buttocks,

Laetitia gently kissed her lover. Too bad Monica was

shooting that day; Laetitia could feel the lingerie

she was wearing underneath. Still, it meant she got to

take them off later…

As Monica moved her left hand to Laetitia’s crotch,

Virginie tipped over to get a coin that she had

dropped. She listened out for any reaction – YES! She

heard the shocked gasp of someone who had passed by at

that moment, and seen her pale and very interesting

asscheeks. Virginie smiled to herself as she got up -

she knew that there was someone else who’d be using

that image for a midnight wank. And she wouldn’t have

it any other way.

The day had a cool breeze to it that acted on her

breasts just the way she wanted; Virginie was tempted

to say “Enjoy the view, fellas!” But that would have

been going too far…

The “DO NOT DISTURB” sign was up outside the trailer,

and everybody knew what that meant – many were the

crew members who wanted to peek inside to see if the

rumours were true, but none were the crew members who

wanted to get fired. Had they peeked, they would have

seen Laetitia Casta standing there gasping and

stroking Monica Bellucci’s head as the latter kissed

and licked the former’s plump pussy; Monica had

feasted on other women before, but none of them had

come close to making her feel the way Laetitia did.

Taking in the smell of her French beloved’s muff,

Monica thrust her tongue inside deeper while stroking

her sweet, perfect ass.

“Ohhhh… no one touches me like you…” Laetitia

murmured, adding a sigh as one of Monica’s long middle

fingers slid into her butt, working its way up and

down. If only Monica had brought their toys – but

she’d have to work over Laetitia’s bum another time.

It was enough for Monica’s tongue to roll the

Frenchwoman’s clit around while exploring her cunt;

enough for Laetitia to clench her fists while waiting

for the moment when it would be her turn to lavish

Monica’s pussy and asshole with HER mouth. “Mmmmmm…”

she groaned, forcing herself to keep her happiness

inside, but tempted to scream out her feelings and to

hell if anyone was listening…

Virginie had entered the Metro for a train ride,

happily acknowledging herself to the man who sold her

her ticket, and betting that he had looked at what she

had to offer. Flouncing onto the crowded train, she

didn’t even mind how hot it was as it took off – she

would only be on it for about three or four stops.

Holding on tightly, she looked around at all the busy

city people reading their papers, listening to private

music, or doing whatever it took to kill time while

stuck in this tin can with wheels. Virginie craned

forward to have a look at the paper the woman next to

her was reading – anything to kill time while she was

here…

What the hell?!? She felt a hand on her butt. And not

an accidental grope either – it was very deliberate.

Someone was feeling her up, right there in the crowd.

And whoever it was was taking his own cool time about

it; stroking Virginie’s unprotected buttocks as if

they were his own. Just as she had hoped.

Virginie was tempted to take the guy’s hand and guide

it to the furry area between her legs, but if she

touched him he might pull away. Best to let him take

the hand where he wanted it to go… there it was.

Sensuously circling her butt again, not daring enough

to try and go under the dress (no one was that

cheeky), but just having a feel. And there he was

again – she gently took his hand and this time, moved

it forward.

She wished she could see the look on his face when he

felt what was there. “Go on,” she said low enough for

him to hear. “It’s okay.”

The hand pulled back quickly. Virginie almost laughed

- they were scared off by that most of the time…

While Virginie was being felt up on the train, Monica

was being felt up in the trailer – lying on the sofa,

stretched out and with her dress hiked up, Laetitia

gently caressed her long limbs, languidly kissing each

part after she touched it, moving down to her feet.

Nothing like a good foot-job to get you ready for the

afternoon, Monica thought as she felt Laetitia kissing

each of her toes – but not as passionately as she

usually did.

“What’s wrong?” Monica asked gently. “You’re not as

happy as you usually are…”

“It’s not you,” Laetitia muttered, still holding the

feet. “It’s fucking Ledoyen. I can’t get her out of my

mind… I just wish I could get my hands on her.”

“And kiss HER legs?”

“Break her legs, more like.”

Monica pulled her legs back. The plan to let Laetitia

use her body to forget about Virginie hadn’t worked;

and now Monica would have to go through the afternoon

with her lust unquenched, so Virginie Ledoyen had

pissed off two women for the price of one. “When you

get over the little minx, call me again,” Monica told

the French woman regretfully.

“That might never happen,” Laetitia replied bitterly.

She’d miss Monica in return.

* * * * * * * * * *

“Morning, this is Virginie Ledoyen. I just got back

from ‘Rue des Plaisirs’ and I just wanted to thank you

for giving me the biggest laughs I’ve had in years

what with the singing and the being shot dead in the

last scene…”

“Hi, Laetitia Casta here. The Jehovah’s Witnesses will

be over at your place in the next half hour.”

“Virginie here. Hope the visit to the plastic surgeon

went okay.”

“It’s Laetitia Casta. Loved your last movie – don’t

think Ligue Française des Droits de l’Animal would

like what you did with the horses and the German

Shepherds though. Still, they looked like they were

having fun…”

“I couldn’t believe that thing you were wearing. Part

of your chest wasn’t visible. You’re slipping,

Laetitia…”

“Did that interviewer’s face wrinkle when you were

talking to him? Must have been Jean-Marie Le Pen’s

cock on your breath…”

And so on, and so on, and so on. The abusive messages

just kept building up on each other’s answering

machines.

Until Virginie had Laetitia’s car filled with sewage.

And Laetitia had a load of cement dumped all over

Virginie’s.

The bill to get the cement out of Virginie’s car and

restore the thing to perfect working order looked like

a phone number; Laetitia had to pay less to get her

car cleaned, but the smell lingered enough that she

had to finally get a new one. As for the old one, she

wrote it off quickly and easily by driving it into the

Seine one night. Neither had been happy.

And then Virginie had opened the newspaper, and seen

what some brainless tabloid writer had said. All about

how she had been seen in a back alley with some very

grateful would-be stud… she crumpled that paper up

super-fast. “Okay, Casta… you want something to get

me in the papers, I’ll give you something to get me in

the papers.”

One good thing about both women working with L’Oreal,

they both had their own contacts. And Virginie knew

just what she wanted Natalie to find out.

* * * * * * * * * *

“His name’s Felix,” the strawberry blonde had told

her. “He’s been close to Laetitia for years, ever

since she started out.”

“Has he ever tried it on with her?”

“Oh good gracious no! She sees him as a trusted

friend. Not the kind of person who wants to jump into

bed with her or stab her in the back or something…”

Felix had certainly never hit on Laetitia; he had let

the thought go through his mind from time to time, but

he was essentially the kind of guy who in a TV show

would be the heterosexual heroine’s homosexual best

friend. That is, if he was homosexual.

Which, as he was busily stuffing his cock down

Virginie Ledoyen’s throat, was unlikely. Virginie and

Felix were in the latter’s garden, hidden away from

everybody but still in the great outdoors;

the air blowing over their naked bodies made

Virginie’s own blowing even better. She half wished

that someone could see her swallowing the man’s prick;

he was uncut, dammit, but apart from that it wasn’t

bad she thought as she moved her head off it. “Better

than LC ever was, right?” she asked him, smiling as

she licked the tip of his stiff cock.

“I never got the chance to find out,” Felix admitted.

“Don’t blame you,” Virginie cooed. “Those teeth…”

* * * * * * * * * *

Virginie had more acceptable choppers than Laetitia,

but Laetitia knew where she made up for it. She also

knew how to get her where it hurt; not by going after

one of her male friends. Too easy.

But getting her BROTHER into bed… Laetitia laughed

with delight as Michael squeezed her famous boobs and

kissed the valley between them. “Like that?” the young

man murmured, his tongue eagerly licking her soft body

and his prick on the verge of spurting all over the

bed. It had been so easy as well – Laetitia had

gambled that he’d be so excited to get a message from

her that his crotch would overrule his brain. Boys…

so easy.

Laetitia felt his mouth travelling down towards the

beautiful jungle between her legs. She owed Natalie a

lot for letting her know where she could find

Michael… oh fuck, there it was. She cried out in joy

as the lad’s tongue thrust into her open cunt,

scrolling open inside and searching out all her

hotspots. Nothing like a spot of head from an eager

boy to get the day to a good start, especially when

the boy’s smooth hands were stroking her as his tongue

tasted her box.

Flicking around and feeling kisses on her pussylips,

Laetitia Casta rolled around on the bed in delight;

his tongue set off sparks wherever it touched her, and

his hands were squeezing and stroking wherever they

landed. Laetitia fondled his curly head as it bobbed

between her legs; “Yes, that’s right, eat it all

up…” she murmured, lolling her head back on the

pillow. She didn’t want him to stop, and she could

tell he didn’t want to stop; she started playing with

her breasts in excitement as he probed further inside.

Then she took his hands and placed them on said boobs,

and shivered in happiness as he made like Doc Ock on a

first date.

Her soaking snatch was making his mouth hungry for

more; steaming and ready for his prick, the boy

climbed up Laetitia. As the happy young lad closed his

mouth on hers, feeling her breath and the taste of her

cunt blending in his mouth, she touched his rock-hard

prick. Good boy – he even had his condom on properly.

Eager AND considerate… he had to be adopted. He

couldn’t be Virginie’s brother – he was too smart for

that. “I love you, Laetitia…” he mumbled into the

nape of her neck as he thrust his cock into a woman

for the first time.

She hoped it was worth it for him, because it was for

her.

* * * * * * * * * *

Laetitia never found out about Felix, because unlike

Virginie’s brother, Felix never kept a diary, which

was never discovered by a nosy relative, who never saw

the salient bits, who never let it slip to Virginie.

Who hit the roof. She would normally have been too

embarrassed to talk about sex with her brother, but

this was a crisis.

“What in the name of everything holy were you THINKING

of?! Oh wait… don’t answer that…”

Her brother didn’t say anything, just looked at her

placidly. While Virginie raved on and on about how he

knew how she felt about that Corsican hussy, inwardly

he was reliving how it felt to empty his come into

Laetitia Casta. And he knew he’d do it again if he had

the chance.

“…just STAY AWAY FROM HER, all right? God, why

couldn’t you go and visit a prostitute like normal

people?!” Her speech delivered, she stormed out of her

brother’s flat, trying to turn her mind back onto

work-related stuff – like having to get back in touch

with the people from “Tout le monde en parle” about

her sacrificing her Saturday night to appear on that

endless gabfest. She had less than fond memories of

the last time she had been on the show – all those

really private questions had not gone down well at

all, and she had let the producers know about it

afterwards. (Okay, she had answered them, but…)

“So we are all sure about this?” Virginie told the

network representative. “Absolutely no questions about

my sex life?”

“Absolutely,” the man replied. “I’m sure we can ask

someone else those questions. Like Amanda Lear for

instance. Or Laetitia – ”

“If she’s on that show, I won’t be there.”

“Oh no no no no no… she’s not scheduled at all. In

fact, our people said that she won’t be there if

you’re there.”

“Oh, well in that case…”

* * * * * * * * * *

Laetitia had only just finished getting rid of a

salesman who had been pestering her for hours (sent at

the behest of Virginie, no doubt), and she wasn’t in

the mood for talking to anybody. So when the phone

rang as soon as she shut the door, it took all her

acting talent to make it sound as if she was happy to

hear the voice of the man from television.

“Yes, hello… Ah, yes, ‘Tout le monde en parle’… I

just have one question; who else will be on it?… Ah,

good. If you had said Virginie Ledoyen, I would have

to cancel… Oh, she’s scheduled for the following

week? A lucky escape for me, then… Okay, I’ll be

there bright and early. Bye.”

The man hung up, hoping that he wouldn’t get into

trouble for what had happened. But then, as Natalie

had assured him the night before, he could always say

it was a scheduling mixup – “These things happen from

time to time,” she had told him. “Someone could have

changed the bookings and forgotten to let you know

until it was too late.”

“But…”

“Sh,” Natalie had said, holding up the olive oil. “Now

do you want this, or don’t you?”

He had wanted it. He had felt Natalie pour the oil all

over him as the night got underway, and she had felt

immense satisfaction at how she had gotten the two

enemies to appear on TV together. It still wouldn’t

get her the deals she thought she deserved – she knew

she was just as pretty as those two. Prettier, even.

And she could act rings around both of them.

After all, both Laetitia and Virginie thought that

Natalie was a friend.

* * * * * * * * * *

Natalie usually liked going out on Saturday nights,

but

tonight was different. She had her dinner in front of

her, the TV was set to France 2, Thierry Ardisson and

the rest were all in place, and she was chortling away

as the two hour-plus roundtable started. Swigging back

some cream soda, she mentally willed them to hurry up

and introduce the guests.

They were the usual mixtures of types – there was a

distinguished writer, two different singers, a woman

who was a freak for plastic surgery, a 12-year-old

prodigy… “Yeah, yeah,” Natalie snapped through her

food, “get to the good stuff.”

“…and she’s going to be seen soon in ‘Saint-Ange’;

she is, of course, the lovely Virginie Ledoyen!” M.

Ardisson finished, as Virginie smiled and acknowledged

the audience applause, and the glances the writer and

the female singer gave to her. There was still one

more chair to be filled in; she just hoped that the

producers hadn’t gotten someone like that idiot Ness -

every time she tried to watch “Top of the Pops” that

stupid bimbo ruined it. As if the music wasn’t enough.

“And finally, a real treat for our male viewers

tonight, as if Virginie wasn’t enough…”

Virginie wondered who it would be; she was looking

forward to cutting some airhead down to size,

especially if said airhead was American or British.

Still, you never could tell – some of these women

weren’t as dumb as they looked. She fixed her gaze on

the woman coming towards her, as the 12-year-old

prodigy muttered “Not another model…”

“Shush,” Virginie told him. “There’s nothing wrong

with models…”

“Please welcome Laetitia Casta!” Thierry finished, and

Laeitia’s own smile vanished on seeing her rival

sitting next to the only available seat.

“YOU!!!” the two beauties snarled as one. Until this

moment, it hadn’t been public knowledge

that there was bad blood between the two, so no one

had expected to see Laetitia actually spring towards

Virginie with her hands out like claws, crash into the

actress with her hands around her neck, and send her

to the floor howling curses and spitting at her. The

guests and the host looked on in shock, unsure whether

to rush in and try to pull the two fighting women

apart or to just sit back and wait until the battle

was over.

“SECURITY!!!” Thierry yelled as the cameras got in

closer, rewarded for their devotion by the sight of

Virginie energetically tugging Laetitia’s hair while

the model clutched her shirt and tore strips off it,

each one yelling at the other.

“SLUT!”

“TRAMP!”

“WHORE!”

“SHITHEAD!”

“HELLSPAWN!”

“YOU FUCKED YOUR WAY INTO THAT MOVIE!”

“YOU DID THAT FOR EVERYTHING, CASTA!!!”

“WHAT?!? I’LL KILL YOU RIGHT HERE YOU LITTLE FUCK!”

And Laetitia actually headbutted Virginie before

adding

a hearty “SEE YOU IN HELL!”

“LIKE I’LL BE DOWN THERE?!?!” Virginie snarled, and

scratched at Laetitia’s dress, tearing the very

expensive item open as the two women scrambled

upwards, punching and jabbing each other. Unaware that

the audience in the studio and at home could see her

left breast, Laetitia dragged Virginie onto the table

and began throttling her, forcing her knee into her

crotch. “I HAD TO WRITE OFF MY CAR BECAUSE OF YOU,

LEDOYEN!”

“SERVES YOU RIGHT FOR WHAT YOU DID TO MY BROTHER,

YOU… YOU BRITISH-TEETHED COW!!!” Virginie spat back,

landing a blow to Laetitia’s stomach as the security

officers ran into the studio, but not before Laetitia

ripped open Virginie’s top and gave her nipples a very

hard wrench. “AAAIIIIEEEE!!!!!” the brunette screamed,

and grabbed hold of Laetitia’s funbags, returning the

favour. Laetitia tried to pull the hands off, but

Virginie had a very tight hold, grinning through the

blood seeping from her nose.

Laetitia smacked Virginie hard across the face and

stamped down on her foot. “OWW!!” the actress howled

as Laetitia swivelled her over, baring her pale behind

to the crowd. “Someone should have done this to you a

LONG time ago, you spoilt little madam,” she growled,

and whirled her hand down, cracking it on Virginie’s

bum as she held the angry actress down. “CALL YOURSELF

A MARIANNE?! Serves you right they got that ugly cunt

Evelyn Thomas to replace you!” Virginie yelled between

Laetitia’s very hard, very powerful, very enthusiastic

smacks. La Casta managed to land around seven before

the security guards dragged her off, and Virginie -

whose first response on feeling the weight being

dragged off was to leap at Laetitia and try to bite

her boobs – got in a few more blows in spite of the

security guards dragging HER off…

The two women were taken off through opposing sides of

the studio, each yelling at the other. It would be a

while before the show could calm down and continue. It

would be a lot longer before the two women could. And

in a small Parisian flat, Natalie hooted in delight as

she recorded it all.

She would probably be a secretary for the rest of her

life, but the amount of egg those two had on their

faces for this little escapade would be worth it.

“What was she doing there?!?” Laetitia yelled in the

safety of her dressing room, changing her ruined

clothes. “The man I talked to swore that she was going

to be on next week’s show!”

“What was his name?” asked the producer, flustered as

much by the sight of Laetitia’s exposed flesh as by

the preceding fracas and all the phone calls that were

crashing France 2′s systems.

“I don’t know… Roger somebody…”

“Roger Karminski?”

“Yes, that’s the one,” a bruised Virginie replied when

she told the producer’s assistant who had told her

that Laetitia wasn’t going to be there. “He should be

sued. Or fired.”

“He probably will be,” said the PA.

“Sued or fired?”

* * * * * * * * * *

On being called on the carpet, a horrified Roger had

blurted that he hadn’t figured it would go that far,

and had admitted that he had been bribed to do so by a

very friendly woman who worked as a secretary at

L’Oreal’s Paris office. Virginie and Laetitia soon had

their turns to be horrified on finding out who the

secretary was.

* * * * * * * * * *

Natalie confessed everything; she admitted she had

been jealous as hell, she had only done it because she

wanted them to be embarrassed, and she begged them not

to fire her because she really needed the job – she

even brought out the tears.

It sort of worked. The company had received a lot of

publicity, not exactly good; the women had been made

to look stupid; and France 2 was furious. But pictures

of Laetitia’s tits from the fight were circulating

online, and a lot of press interest was coming

along… and after all, any publicity was better than

no publicity. Natalie stayed on board as a secretary.

And personal assistant to the two celebrities.

Permanently. Without additional pay.

* * * * * * * * *

Virginie couldn’t believe what she was doing a week

later; knocking on a strange door, a rolled-up

magazine with the appropriate item highlighted. This

was something she had never, ever done before – she

looked around to make sure no one could see her.

“Yes?” asked the woman who opened the door.

“Is this true?” Virginie asked, holding up the

magazine.

“Yes,” said Laetitia. “It’s true.”

“It” was a copy of that week’s edition of “Elle,”

including an interview with Laetitia – an exclusive

interview (exclusive in the

not-available-anywhere-else sense of the word, not in

the UK tabloid sense of the word). In it, Laetitia had

been asked about that fight she had, and what the

movie was that Virginie had bedded her way into; and

then she had talked about Leonardo…

“I heard some of the stories people said about me and

him – that he was seeing me even after Virginie got

the role… but it was nothing. Just a lie. A boy

bragging about his sex life to impress other boys. I

never saw him again after that day, and I’m glad I

didn’t. I do feel a little sorry for Virginie,

however… having to go through all that and not even

enjoying the experience.”

Virginie faced Laetitia, still holding the magazine.

“You never slept with him?”

“Never. He’s not my type,” Laetitia said with a little

smile.

Virginie playfully swatted Laetitia with the magazine.

“You mean we went through all this for nothing?!”

“I wouldn’t say nothing – we got more famous out of

it. And we got that liar Natalie off our backs.”

“Oh yeah, Natalie. How IS she?”

“I’ve got her doing errands for a friend of mine.”

* * * * * * * * * *

Laetitia quivered in delight as Monica delicately had

the string of balls work its way out of her asshole,

twirling them as she pulled. Monica was overjoyed that

this whole thing was over and they could get back to

their sort-of secret affair; the moment she had shown

up at her location apartment, the expression on her

face told her that Laetitia Casta was finally over the

little minx. And when she had made her little request,

Monica was even happier – she was usually a one-woman

woman, but under the right circumstances.

“Aaah … aaahhh… AAAAAHHHHYESSSS!!!!” she cried as

she watched enviously; the envy coming from seeing

Virginie slurping on Monica’s massive tits. Yeah, of

course this was her first time with a woman…

“I’ll say this for you, Casta,” Virginie groaned as

she felt Monica start to push the balls into her, “you

know a good one when you see her!”

“Don’t talk…” Monica urged as she held Virginie

close. “Just fuck.” Virginie gripped Monica ever

tighter; she was glad they had patched things up at

last, if this was one of the benefits. Of course, her

parents couldn’t actually know she was sleeping with

an Italian, but it wasn’t like anyone would say

anything. Even Natalie had thought that the sex toys

she had bought for them were for Monica and her

husband (“Monica’s a friend of mine, and she can’t be

seen going into places like that,” Laetitia had told

her. “And you know what’ll happen if you go and tell

anyone…”).

Dazed from how she had been made to feel, Laetitia

crawled over to Virginie, being held firmly in

Monica’s arms, and did what she never thought she’d

ever find herself doing – rubbing Virginie’s ass in

circles, she thrust her tongue into her snatch and

began to eat, knowing that soon it would be Monica’s

turn to get it from the two of them, and then it would

be her turn. But for the moment, she eagerly flicked

around between Virginie’s legs while groping the milky

white flesh – she was beautiful down below, all shaven

and tight. Laetitia spread the lady’s box apart to get

a better look, smiled blissfully and licked further

inside as Miss Ledoyen enjoyed Monica’s flesh,

half-wondering if there was any chance she could get

to work with her in the future and shaking against her

lovers as she felt the string of little balls moving

up inside her. With Monica’s lips around her nipples,

Virginie started to slap the Italian’s big round

bottom as fiercely as Laetitia had slapped hers.

“Not the first time,” Monica said, grabbing Virginie’s

hands and pulling them off. “You have to wait, just

like Laetitia did.”

“Spoilsport,” Virginie laughed, settling for holding

Monica’s cheeks as she felt Laetitia’s hands moving up

her body. No way she could feel any better than she

did now.

* * * * * * * * * *

There was no way she could feel any better than she

did now. “YES YES YES!!!!” Virginie yelled a week

later as her partner Louis thrust away between her

legs, coring deep inside her and pinning her down as

if she was trying to escape. “OH YES LOUIS MAKE ME

COME NOW!!!”

Louis was afraid that he was the one who was going to

come now. Not least since Laetitia Casta was in front

of him buck naked. And happily straddling his

partner’s face while he pumped her; he watched

Laetitia lower herself onto the ecstatic Virginie, his

eyes darting back and forth between Virginie’s

fantastic little breasts and Laetitia’s lovely bottom

sitting tantalizingly near them. He slammed himself

harder into his partner, telling himself he wouldn’t

try and take Laetitia up her rear entrance

afterwards… he wouldn’t… he wouldn’t…

Laetitia patted Virginie’s wild hair as she watched

the woman slip her tongue into her box, breath rushing

out of her nose in quick little gasps as she felt

Louis’s prick shooting into her. Laetitia’s own gasps

were building as Virginie’s tongue searched through

her cunt, wanting to give her the best head she had

had in ages; just to make up for everything. Her

grunts became more urgent as she enjoyed the snatch,

and Laetitia knew that Virginie was about to give in

to Louis; “Mmmmm…uuuhhhhh….oooohhhhshitttt….

mmmMMMMMMMMM!!!!!!” Virginie clutched Laetitia’s ass

and shoved her face deep between her legs, shaking as

she felt Louis’s cockhead explode inside her, and

letting Laetitia feel a bit of herself coming. Her

breath rushed out over her lover’s box, and the two

people on top of her shook with her as Virginie felt

the heat coursing through her body.

Virginie slid her hands around and up Laetitia’s body

as she felt Louis’s spent prick moving out. Her

significant other might have been finished for the

moment, but as she raised herself and kissed her

former enemy, she had only just begun…

Most good fantasies in the olden days ended with “And

so they got married and lived happily ever after.”

Virginie was already married and Laetitia was also

attached, so let’s say they got pleasured instead.

Repeatedly. And apart from a few slip-ups, like that

one time after the Sept d’Or Awards (when Laetitia and

Virginie spotted their partners with… but that’s

another story), they lived happily ever after.

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