She’d do, in a pinch. Her hair was the wrong shade of brown and her eyes were too wide, but he could make it work. Her tits were right. Her ass was actually even a little better than the original. She had the right combination of softness and muscle. Her thighs were almost thick enough.
He sent her pictures. Told her what to wear. She’d never get the voice right so he just had her shut up and take off her clothes.
She liked being useful, even if she couldn’t be herself. Bent over his desk who could tell the difference? Sinking into her wetness, his fingers grabbing her hips, it was almost perfect, almost her, almost real.
He rolled his eyes when the understudy cried though. The real girl never did that.If you liked this story you can send me a tip via paypal.me/writingdirty