Emma Stone

With a round of applause from the crowd, Emma Stone joins Carrie up on the stage, smiling, petite, squeezed into a tight glistening green dress that zips up the front and props up her cleavage.

She waves at the audience and laughs in that way that suggests she’s always having fun. Then she turns her attention to your girlfriend, looking her up and down.

“Jesus,” She says “I asked for a good one I didn’t think they’d give me a girl whose tits are bigger than my head.”

Carrie stands still, staring forward, but her eyes search the onlookers for you. She finds you and smirks.

“C’mon then, let’s see em.” Emma demands. “Strip.”

As Carrie pulls her underwear off, exposing her perky stiff nipples and wet twat to the room, you find yourself somewhat fascinated by the way in which Emma’s passive style differs from Jessica Chastain’s aggressive style. The other day you kinda assumed what you saw was the way it always went. Turns out everyone has their own methods.

Emma goes on, her voice raspy and sultry “Okay this is gonna be super easy. Just admit that you suck and that redheads are better.” She leans in to give Carrie a loud whisper. “We all know it anyway, right?”

You’re so hung up on the impossibility of your wild girlfriend on stage with thee Emma Stone, you almost forget that she has a grand plan to turn this entire spectacle on its head.

Carrie turns to face Emma, takes a deep breath and delivers her response. “Fuck redheads!”

Defiance. Hmmm. An interesting plan, you suppose. Refuse to play the game completely and assume it will break down the entire charade.

The room boos loudly. Emma smiles widely. The charade doesn’t seem to be breaking down.

“I need a waitress. Can I get a waitress up here to help?!” Emma shouts off the stage. Then again her attention is with Carrie. She looks up at her. “You’re too tall. That’s the first problem. Let’s get on your knees and try again.”

“Fuck You!” Carrie snips

The waitress appears at the other end of the stage and walks over. She’s, as expected, a gorgeous redhead, wearing a long white shirt with a hint of wild red bush peaking out under.

Emma whispers something in her ear and she looks at bit shocked.

“Will you?” Emma asks and the waitress nods. “Okay, lets give this another try.” She places a hand on Carrie’s shoulder.

Carrie isn’t having it. “Fuck red...”

But before she can finish there’s a cluster of activity. Emma has taken out her legs somehow. She flops to her knees, thighs spread and the waitress’s hand is up inside her.

The crowd goes wild.

Carrie gasps. Her face turns bright red. Her huge exposed chest heaves up and down.

The waitress’s hand is in her up to the wrist, but she’s not quitting there. She pushes. Juices drip out of Carrie’s slit into her thighs.

She tried to get the word out. “Fu...fu....”

Is this a test or has Carrie made a huge miscalculation?

“If you can’t say that. Try saying something else.” Emma gives chopper encouragement. “Like perhaps...”

“Fu.... fu...” Carrie’s chin quivers. Her teeth chatter. The waitress’s hand is inside her up to her forearm now. It seems impossible. “Fu... fuck me” she squeaks.

The crowd cheers. This isn’t exactly going as you expected. But you find yourself getting hard regardless.

“That’s pretty close. The sentiment is right.” Emma chirps playfully. “But I need you to be more specific.”

Carrie’s voice begins to leave her. You’ve never seen her in this state. She’s covered in pussy juice and sweat. Her tongue hangs out in exhaustion. She whispers “fuck.... fuck.... fuck.... red... heads.... are..... better.”

And she collapses, broken.

“Close enough.” Emma proclaims as the waitress finally relents and slides her messy arm out of Carrie’s insides.

Another waitress appears with the hair trimmers. She goes to hand them to Emma but, consistent with their desire not to get her hands dirty (literally even) Emma waves her off. “You do it.”

The second waitress helps what remains of your girlfriend back to her knees, flips on the trimmers and begins the buzz. The audience loves it as all of Carrie’s brown locks fall to the ground.

Emma watches with a triumphant grin. She grabs the zipper at the top of her dress and pulls it down, exposing a plump tit and a big, hard nipple. “You’ve been such a good sport. Here’s something for you.”

Carrie smiles with a wince and goes in for a lick. But Emma pulls back.

“Not you. Don’t be ridiculous.” And she directs her nipple to the waitress who leans in and wraps her lips around it for a prolonged suckle.

And with that the curtain closes. The audience is satisfied. You grab a drink. You need one after what you just witnessed.

Around 3am you wait outside the club doors for some sign of Carrie. You wait and you wait. Finally the doors open but it’s not what you expect.