It’s Only Money

Desperate situations demand desperate measures. At least that's how I saw it.

Just six weeks after pretty much cleaning out my savings account for a deposit on my own flat, I was made redundant. And there was worse to come. As the accountant who was brought in to sort of the business's affairs told us, it was probably going to be a couple of months or so before we could expect to get any money.

A couple of the other girls were absolutely devastated. But I wasn't too worried. I knew that I could get another job. Probably a better one. In fact, I'd noticed that one of the now-defunct business's competitors was advertising for someone with exactly my skills and experience.

I sent off my CV and waited expectantly for the phone call or email inviting me to an interview. But then, after three days -- and no phone call or email -- I decided that perhaps I should also apply for a couple of other jobs that looked quite interesting. And if I ended up with three offers, I could always just choose the best and tell the other two: Thank you, but no thank you.

At the end of the second week, I decided to spread my net even further. Eventually, I had applications in for 12 jobs. But not a single interview. I was getting desperate. I even started reading the small ads in the local free newspaper. And that's where I saw it.

Wanted: Normal-sized females for photographic modelling assignments. No experience necessary.

Normal-sized? What sort of normal-sized? Normal for a beanpole catwalk model? Or normal for a normal girl like me? It said that applicants must be over 18 (which I definitely was), and that they should email a recent photograph of themselves, together with 'a summary of experience if any'. Oh, well, nothing ventured, nothing gained. I desperately needed something to tide me over. And how hard could it be to stand in front of a camera and smile?

Within a couple of hours of firing off the email, I got a reply. 'We would like you to come into the studio for a preliminary chat at ten o'clock tomorrow. Please confirm.'

It turned out that the studio was just a short walk from where I lived. It was at the end of a little side street. And, from the faded lettering high up on the outside of the building, it looked as though it had once been some sort of engineering works.

It was only about 9:45 when I arrived at the studio. 'Sorry,' I said. 'It took less time than I thought it would to get here.'

The woman smiled. 'That's OK. Better early than late. Come on through.'

I followed her through to a large untidy-looking space with white-painted walls and lights everywhere. Some of the lights were just small, but some were massive. 'By the way, I'm Monica,' she said. 'So ... you haven't had any previous experience?'

'No, not really,' I said.

Monica looked me up and down. 'Hmm. Well ... that's not always necessary,' she said. 'Everyone has to start somewhere.'

'The, umm, ad in the paper said normal-sized,' I said. 'I wasn't sure what that meant. I hope I'm not ... well ... too big.'

Monica shook her head. 'You look fine. We like women that normal people can relate to -- women with a little meat on their bones, women with a few curves.' Monica got me to stand in front of a large square of heavy pale-grey paper. 'Just stand on that cross,' she said, pointing to a mark on the floor, 'and we'll take a few test shots. So ... what do you normally do?'

Thwat! Before I had a chance to answer, several of the big lights that were placed around the room flashed and made a surprisingly loud noise. 'Yes. That's nice,' Monica said. 'Just turn your head slightly.'

I turned my head and -- Thwat! -- the lights flashed again.

'And the other way.' Thwat! 'Stand side on....' Thwat! 'Now just turn around so that your back is towards me, and look back over your shoulder at the camera.' Thwat! 'Hmm. Yes. Not too bad at all,' Monica said, as she studied the back of her camera. 'I suppose you want to know about the money.'

'I guess so,' I said.

'Yes. Well ... it's all on a per-assignment basis. I'm afraid you won't get rich on basic assignments like catalogue shoots. But I think you have something about you. I think we can use you for some of the more, well, lucrative assignments. How do you feel about underwear?'

'I wear it,' I told her. 'Well, most of the time.'

Monica smiled. 'Yes. I thought that you might. Let me put it another way: how do you feel about being photographed wearing underwear?'

How did I feel? I hadn't really thought about it. 'Umm ... oh ... umm ... OK. I suppose.'

Monica nodded. 'Just slip that shirt off for a moment will you.'

I hadn't planned on having to get undressed, but, happily, I had worn a nice bra.

'And just turn side on,' Monica said. Thwat! 'And maybe lose the skirt too.' Oh well, at least my knickers matched my bra. Thwat!

Once again, Monica studied the back of her camera. 'OK,' she said, after a moment or two. 'We'll give it a try. How are you placed tomorrow afternoon?'

It wasn't until I was back at home again, searching the fridge for something for lunch, that I realised that we hadn't actually discussed what we were going to be giving a try.

The following morning Monica called to tell me that there had been a slight change of plan. She wanted me at four rather than at two. I told her that that would be fine.

When I arrived at the studio, Monica was just popping the cork from a bottle of champagne. 'A few bubbles to help us all relax a little,' she said. I had to admit that I was feeling a little nervous -- it was, after all, my first photo shoot -- so, yes, maybe a sip or two of champagne would do no harm.

'Oh, and this is Celia,' Monica said, as an older woman in a towelling bathrobe came into the studio from one of the side doors. 'Celia, this is Hannah. Hannah's new to all this.'

Celia smiled warmly and looked me up and down. 'Oh well, we'll soon have you into the swing of things, Hannah.'

Monica pointed to the door through which Celia had just come. 'The dressing room's through there,' she said. 'If you'd like to just go and get undressed and slip on one of the robes.'

'OK. And what do you want me to put on?' I asked.

Monica frowned, as if she hadn't understood my question. 'Oh, I see. Yes,' she said after a moment or two. 'At this stage, nothing. Well ... nothing other than the robe, anyway -- although that's up to you.'

It all sounded a bit strange -- but I went and got undressed and slipped on one of the robes that were hanging in a neat row on one wall of the dressing room. When I returned to the main studio, Monica handed me a glass of champagne. 'Cheers,' she said.

'Yes, cheers,' Celia echoed.

If I was Monica's idea of a 'normal-sized' woman, then Celia was more like normal plus. She definitely had a few curves. She also seemed to have quite large boobs and a well-padded bum. It was hard to tell exactly how old she was, but I guessed that she couldn't be far off 50 -- in one direction or the other. Mind you, for a woman of her age, she certainly exuded a sexiness that many younger women would be hard pressed to match.

'So ... are there any boys today?' Celia asked with a broad grin.

Monica shook her head. 'No. Just you two today. Is that OK?'

'Oh, yes,' Celia said. 'I think Hannah and I will work just fine together -- won't we, Hannah.'

Would we? To be honest, I had very little idea of what we were going to be doing, but I smiled and nodded anyway.

While Celia and I sipped our champagne, Monica busied herself, positioning an antique-looking chaise longue and an equally antique-looking balloon-backed chair, titivating a large floral arrangement, moving lights, and doing something with a little hand-held device that made the lights flash. Thwat! Thwat!

'Right,' she said, eventually, 'time for you two to get dressed.' And she handed each of us a selection of bras and knickers and other lingerie items. 'I think if you start with the mauve set, Celia. And, Hannah, we'll try you in the cappuccino.'

I looked towards Celia (who I was beginning to suspect was an old hand at the business) for a clue as to what to do next. 'Right,' she said. And she gathered up her bundle of lingerie and headed towards the dressing room. I followed.

Once inside the dressing room, Celia removed her robe and stood, naked, in front of the large mirror that covered most of one wall. 'Does my makeup look OK do you think?' she asked.

I said that I thought it looked fine.

'Right,' she said. And then she added: 'Hector doesn't like slutty makeup. He prefers it to be subtle.'

Hector? Who on earth was Hector? I was about to ask, but then, for some reason, I decided not to. If Hector was important, I would no doubt find out -- sooner or later.

In the buff (as my friend Mikey would say), Celia was even more evidently normal plus. Her boobs were considerably larger than mine -- and slightly pendulous. Her bum and her womanly hips were quite well padded. And there was no concealing the fact that she had a bit of a tummy -- in fact, quite a bit of a tummy. And beneath the tummy, a luxuriant patch of dark pubic hair streaked with silvery grey. But, as I said before, there was something very sexy about her.

'I always think of mauve as an old-lady colour,' Celia said as she stepped into a pair of full-cut knickers. And then she laughed. 'Perhaps Monica is trying to tell me something. What do you think?'

I told her that she looked very nice in mauve; and that if mauve was an old-lady colour, it certainly didn't look old-lady on her.

'You're so sweet,' she said. 'I can see that we're going to have fun. But come on: you need to get dressed.'

I must say that I was a little self-conscious with Celia watching. And she was watching. Still, I took the robe off and reached out for the knickers. 'Here, let me help,' Celia said. She picked up the knickers and was just about to pass them to me when something caught her eye. 'Oops. A loose thread,' she said. 'Let me just snip that for you.' While Celia found some scissors in one of the drawers and snipped the errant thread, I stood in the middle of the room, naked as the day I was born, with a full-sized naked replica of me looking back from the mirrored wall. It was not quite what I had expected when I had got out of bed that morning.

Eventually, Celia was satisfied with her seamstress's efforts, and I could finally wriggle my way into the knickers. 'Yes, very nice,' Celia said as she helpfully straightened them across my bum. I wasn't quite so sure. I said that maybe I needed a size larger. Celia just smiled. 'Hector likes them a little on the snug side,' she said.

When Celia and I returned to the main studio, Monica was waiting with our champagne glasses. 'Just another quick sip, and then we need to get down to business,' she said. I don't know if it was the champagne or what, but there I was, standing in a studio, surrounded by brighter-than-bright lights, and wearing nothing but some skimpy underwear, and do you know what? I didn't really care.

The first shots that Monica took were with Celia on the chaise longue and me in various standing poses next to her. Initially, Monica was very specific in her instructions. 'Hannah, bring your chin up slightly.' Thwat! 'Celia, relax your left hand a little.' Thwat! 'Hannah, turn your shoulders more to towards the camera.' Thwat! But, pretty soon, Celia and I were into the swing of it. We just did what we thought might look good, and Monica -- mainly -- just snapped away. Thwat! Thwat! Thwat!

For the second lot of shots, Monica had me sitting on one of the balloon-back chairs. 'Try sitting slightly side on,' Monica said. Thwat! 'Lovely. And now try lifting your right leg. Yes. That's nice.' Nice? Well, if you consider an unencumbered view of the inside of my thigh to be nice. Thwat!

'I'll tell you what, Hannah,' Monica said after we had tried a few more side-sitting shots, 'try turning the chair around, and sit astride it with your hands holding onto the top of the back.'

I did as I was instructed. But I was a bit worried that, with my legs spread so much, the first thing the camera was going to notice was the gusset of my knickers. I just hoped that everything down there was covered. I thought that I could feel just a hint of unfamiliar coolness. 'That's it. Very nice,' Monica said. Thwat!

'Now, Celia, why don't you get behind Hannah? Yes, that's nice.' Thwat! 'Maybe bring up your left knee and rest it on the seat of the chair. Nice.' Thwat! 'And now just drape your left arm over Hannah's shoulder and rest your hand on her breast.' Thwat! 'Maybe just stroke it gently,' Monica suggested. Thwat! 'Yes. Perfect.'

'See. It's really quite easy, isn't it,' Celia said quietly as she continued to stroke and fondle my left breast. And then I felt her other hand on my right breast.

'Perfect.' Thwat! 'And maybe a bit lower,' Monica suggested. I felt Celia's hand slip down my body, gently stroking my midriff before making its way on down to my knicker-clad pubic mound.

If you had told me at breakfast time that I was going to be spending the late afternoon barely clothed, and that another woman, also barely clothed, was going to be stroking my tits and threatening to do the same to my pussy, I would have said: no way! And yet, for some reason, it just felt right. The only teeny-weeny concern I had was that I kept thinking that someone was watching -- someone other than Monica, I mean -- but, of course, that couldn't be. It was just the three of us.

'Let's try you both standing,' Monica said. 'Just remember to let the camera see what you're doing.' Thwat!

Well, what we were doing -- I'm surprised to say -- was kissing. Just soft little kisses. And, while we kissed, our hands wandered at will, exploring each other's scantily-clad bodies. Thwat!

While I had often stroked and rubbed my own tits, it was the first time that I had done it to another woman. And I have to say that it felt really really nice. It was a totally different feeling to being with a guy. Not necessarily better. But definitely different. Softer. And really nice. Thwat!

'I think maybe Hannah's bra could go,' Monica said. Celia didn't need a second invitation. 'Just slowly,' Monica said, hastily. 'Make the moment last, Celia. Make the moment last.' Thwat!

Celia reached around and unhooked my bra, slipped the straps off my shoulder and slowly -- very slowly -- freed my tits, covering them with little kisses as she went. Thwat! And then, with my tits totally exposed, she began licking and sucking on my nipples. It felt heavenly. Thwat!

'Just turn slightly this way, Hannah. Let me see Celia's hand working your pussy mound.' Thwat! 'Nice,' Monica said. 'Yes.' Thwat! 'And now let's lose the knickers. Just take them off slowly. Yes, that's it. Just slowly. And hold them ... just there. Yes!' Thwat! 'Now just let them fall to the floor.' Thwat! 'Nice.'

'Gosh, someone's getting very wet,' Celia murmured.

'Are you surprised?' I said

Celia just smiled.

'Now turn around and show the camera your adorable bum,' Monica said. 'Maybe rest your hands on the back of the chair.' Thwat! 'Yes. Perfect. Maybe just spread your legs a little bit more. Yes, that's better.' Thwat! 'Just let the camera see those wonderfully moist little pussy lips. Lovely.' Thwat!

'And now, Hannah, if you could just kneel down -- or maybe crouch down -- in front of Celia and very slowly pull her knickers down. Just very slowly.' Thwat! 'Yes, that's it. Just let her wonderful bush gradually appear. Just slowly. Perfect.' Thwat!

It was about this point -- if not a little earlier -- that I began to think about the fact that Monica wasn't even pretending to photograph models in sexy lingerie any more, she was making voyeuristic porn. Just for a second or two there, I was thinking: Hey, enough is a enough, Monica. If you wanted me to do a girl-on-girl photo shoot, you should have said so at the outset. That way, I could have said: No way! But then I thought: Oh well ... what the hell! I've come this far. Also, to be honest, I was finding it more than a little bit exciting.

As Celia's descending knickers revealed more and more of her beautiful bush-clad pussy -- just in front of my face -- I suddenly had the urge to taste it. Thwat!

'Oh, yes, that's nice,' Monica said. 'That's very nice. Both of you ... just turn slightly to the side so that the camera can enjoy it too.'

And, yes, Monica was right. It was very nice.

As my tongue lapped at Celia's slippery pussy lips, stray hairs from her ample bush tickled my nose and my chin. 'Mmm,' Celia growled, 'you can do that any time you like. Any ... time ... you ... like.'

Thwat! 'And maybe back on the chaise longue,' Monica suggested.

Reluctantly, Celia broke away and moved backwards a step or two until she was half sitting on the chaise longue, her legs splayed, her left foot resting on the seat, her right foot resting on the floor, and I began to trace patterns on her exposed inner thighs with my tongue. As Celia sighed and moaned and roughly fingered her glistening clit, Monica snapped away. Thwat! Thwat! Thwat!

'That's nice,' Monica said. And then, as Celia thrust one finger and then two into her vagina, Monica said: 'Oh yes. That's very nice, Celia -- you dirty girl.' Thwat!

I must confess that, by then, I was also giving my own pussy a serious workout. 'And lean forward just a little, Hannah,' Monica said. 'Yes. Perfect.' Thwat!

'What about trying the knicker trick?' Celia suggested.

Out of the corner of my eye, I could see Monica nodding and smiling. 'Umm. Yes. An excellent idea. I think you should do it with Hannah.'

The only word to describe the grin that this suggestion elicited from Celia is lascivious. 'Come on,' she said. 'Time to swap places.'

I sat down on the edge of the chaise longue, and Celia crouched down in front of me -- but not before she had retrieved my abandoned knickers. Celia gently spread my thighs and then, with the fingers of her spare hand, spread wide my pussy lips. 'That just looks so yummy,' she said. Thwat! 'I just have to give that yummy cunny a little kiss.' And she did.

Wow! It felt fantastic. 'Oh, fuck, that feels fabulous,' I said. 'Don't stop now.'

For maybe a couple of minutes, Celia continued to kiss and lick my hungry cunt. It felt wonderful. But then Monica gently reminded us why we were there. 'Come on, ladies, we're here to take photographs. Remember? If you want to eat each other to a nice orgasm, there will be plenty of time when we've finished.'

Rather reluctantly, Celia pulled away and began brushing my now-sopping-wet pussy with the previously-abandoned knickers. Thwat! 'Remember to let the camera see what's happening,' Monica reminded us.

'Ready?' Celia called out softly.

'When you are,' Monica replied.

'Ready?' Celia asked me.

'I guess so,' I said -- although ready for what was anyone's guess.

Gently, deftly, Celia began to push a corner of the knickers -- just a tiny corner of soft fabric and lace -- into my hungry cunt. 'Perfect,' Monica said. Thwat! And then just a little bit more of the skimpy garment disappeared inside. Thwat! And then more. And then more. As the big strobe lights flashed away -- and Monica continued to offer encouragement -- the skimpy lace-edged knickers continued to disappear up inside me. Thwat!

Eventually, all that was left on the outside was a small twist of cappuccino-coloured fabric no bigger than Celia's thumb. 'Mmm. Nice,' she said. Thwat! 'Ready?' Celia called out to Monica.

'When you are,' Monica replied. 'But remember ... just slowly. And let the camera enjoy the moment.'

And slowly, gently, making sure that the camera could 'enjoy the moment', Celia began to pull the now pussy-juice-sodden knickers out of my cunt. Thwat! Again, it was a first -- well, for me anyway. And, again, it felt fantastic. And, as the last skerrick of lace re-emerged, Celia gathered up the damp knickers in her hand and held them up to her smiling face, breathing deeply. Thwat!