Fantasy [Celeb] Anushka's training to Raashi Khanna

[hyd_cock]

The private lounge is dim and warm — low sofas, one corner table, two glasses sweating on it, a lamp doing more mood than light. The manager was already seated. So was Raashi.
She was exactly what he warned Anushka about: cute, shy, too soft for this business. Early twenties, small frame, a simple kurti that stops at the knee, hair pinned neat, hands folded in her lap like she's at a temple. She kept tugging the hem down, kept glancing at the door, kept asking him in a whisper whether she was dressed right, whether she should stand when Anushka came, whether Anushka would like her. Sweet. Green. Waiting to be broken in.
The door didn't open. It got shoved.
Anushka walked in like the room owed her money — heels loud on the floor, sunglasses pushed up into a mess of hair, a slip dress the color of blood that clings to every curve and hangs off one shoulder, no bra underneath, her tits shifting loose with each step, nipples printing through the thin fabric like they didn't care who noticed. She was chewing gum. She was late and didn't apologize. She dropped onto the sofa across from him, spreads her legs wide like a man, and looked Raashi up and down — slow, unhurried, all the way from the pinned hair to the sandals.
"So," she said, cracking the gum, her voice low and rough, no warmth in it at all. "Idena aa pori? Is this the new one?"
Raashi sat up straighter, hands tightening in her lap, cheeks already going pink. "Namaskaram, ma'am," she said, small and proper.
Anushka snorted. "Ma'am." She looked at the manager, thumb hooked toward Raashi. "Ee ma'am-maamma tho cinema raadu, anna. Look at her. Cute. Clean. Boring." She leaned forward, elbows on knees, eyes back on Raashi, and her mouth curled. "You know what this business runs on, pori? Not talent. Not hard work. It runs on skin. And skin has to learn to be shameless."