Jayne's World Pt. 16

A message from Jayne, the author.

This is a long story, a very long one, 16 parts so far, about 80,000 words.

Until this part, Jayne's World has been in the Mature category as at the heart of that world is a love affair between a girl of twenty-three and a mature man of fifty-five. But their lives have broadened out. The girl has become a professional glamour, photographic model and the story now revolves around just what goes on in the intimate privacy of a photographic studio. Hence the posting in Exhibitionist & Voyeur; I am certainly the former but not sure about the latter.

Each part is written as a stand-alone story but there is a continuity from part to part. So, the choice is yours, pick it up from here or read from the start. Whichever you choose, I hope you enjoy it and feel free to leave me your comments.

Thanks and love,

Jayne

AKA westjayne495

HIM.

I'd sent a couple of emails to Jayne but she hadn't replied. Not only did that hurt, but it also surprised me, as I thought she was a far nicer person than that. I couldn't understand why the lovely young lady I had spent so much time with could treat me like this. But then out of the blue as I was photographing some birds on Ilkley Moor my phone pinged and there was an email from her. It said how sorry she was but that she didn't feel she could any longer carry on with the, as she called it, charade of our relationship. The phrase that I guess summed things up was: 'it can never go anywhere.' She was right of course, but then did either of us expect that it would, when we started all those months ago?

HER.

The phone call and email discussions with Max had been interesting. It turned out that he had contacts with the Desi immigrant population based in and around Bradford, only a few miles from Leeds.

"They go ape shit for a pair of white tits like yours Jayne," he told me as I sat across his desk in his small office above the studio. He went on to onto explain that he had a number of clients who paid good money for intimate and explicit shots of 'young chicks like you.'

I asked if it was one to one posing and he told me that sometimes it was, but generally there were three or four in a group, adding "at hundred and fifty quid a pop it's lovely jubbly money," he grinned, or was it leered, at me.

"You get guys to pay that much?"

"Yeah, two three times a month, and we split it fifty - fifty."

I was getting intrigued but also worried as to just what I'd be expected to do for that amount of money. That was especially because the session only lasted an hour or so and I'd remembered Max telling me how the going further could include shots of me being fucked.

"Er Max does that mean I'd have sex with them?"

"No, no of course not, they're professional photographers."

"But yesterday you said something about that, didn't you?"

"Yes, but I didn't mean you fuck them."

I was now getting confused and asked, "Who do I fuck then?"

He laughed and leaned forward, focusing his gaze on my tits. I felt relieved that I had worn a bra, although the top was quite tightly fitted around them, accentuating the fullness of each boob.

"Well, I'm always available babe," he grinned, adding "but I don't pay, so you'd better pass on me. And Mrs. Max would kill me if she found out. No, any fucking that goes on is between consenting models, not photographers and model. The police have cleaned up the studios that were knocking shops. That's why you had to sign that agreement."

"Oh okay, but why do they pay so much?"

"They sell the shots in India and Pakistan mainly, but also China and the Middle East; they go on websites. The Arabs pay big money as they can't access most of the porny European and American sites on the web."

"Okay, so what do I and the models do for the two hundred or so quid?"

"Like I told you Jayne, lots of open legs, front and back, touching and caressing your tits and pussy, fingering, maybe using a vibrator and making yourself cum. They'll use both still and video cams."

"And the models," I asked, "who are they?"

"Come round here," he said, indicating his side of the desk and turning his PC on. I went and stood next to where he was sitting, expecting that any moment I'd feel a hand on my bum or bare leg beneath my short skirt. "Look at these."

He skimmed through a number of male models that I had to admit were all quite gorgeous. There were several photos of each of them, dressed and in tiny underpants or swim suits with about half having full nudes as well.

"So, ma'am," he said, standing up behind his desk as I returned to my chair and sat down, crossing my legs and causing the short skirt to shoot upwards. "Fuck Jayne, I should have my camera right now," he said, making me giggle and shrug the skirt down a little.

"Now, now, Mrs Max wouldn't like that would she?"

"What Mrs Max doesn't see or know can't hurt can it? But it's downstairs, so I'll just look instead. So, are you interested Jayne?"

Thinking he meant in having sex with him I played it cagey and asked, "interested in what?" as our eyes met and I saw him smile, showing that he knew I had misunderstood the question.

"Intimate posing love, what else?" he said raising his eyebrows.

HIM.

I was keeping up with the photography, taking shots and attending classes. I was enjoying it, but it reminded me so much of Jayne, particularly when I attended a group modelling session and the girl was quite young and blonde, though not as sexy or attractive as her. I chatted with Max and was surprised to hear that he'd been talking to her. He thanked me for recommending her and asked how I knew her. I made it vague saying I knew her from when I was in London. He told me that he thought she was a great model adding, "well that is, for glamour and erotic stuff at least."

"What do you mean?

"The best models are like actresses in that they really live the part."

"What do you mean?"

"Well when a photographer asks for, say, an 'I want to be fucked look,' the better models, like Jayne, naturally use their face and body to portray that."

"Okay and do they cum when being shot?" I couldn't help asking.

"Yes, almost as easily as they do when having sex and often several times in quick succession," he explained.

"Really?" I mumbled wondering just what motivates models in general and Jayne in particular to be like that. Max sort of answered it without me asking.

"I suppose in a way they are like sex junkies. Exhibitionists who get off on exposing themselves and being admired sexually by men; well actually, by some women as well with some of them."

"So how far does that go?"

"Some go all the way and would let almost anyone have sex with them when they've been, as it were, warmed up. Why, did you notice it with Jayne when you photographed her?"

I almost forgot the position that I'd partially explained about Jayne and me, and I stammered without thinking, "Notice what?"

"Her wanting to have sex with you?"

I was embarrassed both at being found out and him knowing that Jayne was more than just a woman I'd known in London.

HER.

"There'll just be three Jayne. Two are Indian and the other Turkish I think, or something vaguely Middle Eastern."

"Okay, and special instructions?"

This was a few days later, after my meeting with Max in his office when he'd given me the lowdown on the differing modelling sessions he arranged. I'd phoned and said I would be interested in posing for an intimate and explicit, as he called it, session and we'd agreed a time a week or so later. I also told him that I wasn't up for having sex while being photographed and he said okay, but he asked if I'd be photographed with other models and I said that I would.

I asked if he knew of anywhere I could stay and he asked why not with James? I told him to forget that and he said he had a deal with a local Premier Inn and told me the price, which was fine. So, with a cheap hotel for the night and my student rail ticket, my overheads were less than fifty quid. On top of that, Max said he'd try to get me a straight one to one the following day for which I'd get fifty so I'd cover them as well; quids in, I thought grinning.

Over the next few days, I thought a lot. I thought about James, who I was missing and who had organised my entry into modelling for money and I thought about Max as both a man and the studio owner. I was pretty sure he wanted to have sex with me, but then I thought that about most men I met, cocky, vain bitch that I am. I was pretty sure that most guys I met wanted to fuck me, but then I reckoned that most men would fuck most women so I didn't consider that Max was that different or anything unusual.

I also thought about James and wished I could ask his advice. I imagined being in bed with him, asking him about it during the pillow talk we used to have after sex. And that quite naturally led me onto thinking about the sex we'd had, and how good it had been. I realised how daft I'd been to have dropped him and how selfish and unthinking had been the way I did it.

Inevitably my thinking also extended to the sex that this posing was all about. Supposedly it was only simulated sex but Max had told me that some models offered it as an extra to photographers during one-to-one sessions. He'd also asked if I would be interested in posing with another model and if I would, as he put it, get myself off with the small group at the intimate session he'd arranged for me with the three guys.

It seemed as if everywhere I looked, or more relevantly, thought, sex reared its ugly head. And that made me think more about how much further I would go. I had come to terms with the fact that at the intimate session, I would be very explicit with my open legs posing, that I would play with myself and that I would probably cum. In many ways, though, what hit me most was that I didn't feel as if I would have to work at having an orgasm, for I thought it would almost certainly come naturally. That led to me thinking back to the group session that had really accelerated the split from James. I had told him that I not only wanted to cum but that as I lay there naked apart from my holdups with my legs spread and my fingers parting the folds of my lips, I wanted to be fucked. I guess the worst thing for him was my admission that I wouldn't have cared at that moment just who fucked me or how many joined in.

As I travelled up to Leeds again, I didn't bother taking my bra off as I usually did when meeting James, but I did keep thinking. Although I was now earning some money, quite a good amount too, if this next posing session worked and led to more, I was still well in hock to Mickey. I was paying my rent for the apartment and now the car, an Audi Quattro he was letting me use, my Mini having been repossessed as it was owned by my dad's business which had gone bust. He'd 'collect' payment every other Thursday afternoon when he would come to the flat and we'd spend two to three hours having sex.

Being a friend of my Dad's from their schooldays in the East End of London, I had known him for most of my life and in a way, he was like a surrogate father, other than the now regular sex as a way of paying in kind for my rent and the use of the car. As the train hurtled northwards so my thinking focused on what I was doing with Mickey. That thinking was reaching the conclusion that if I was okay to let him fuck me instead of charging me, then maybe I could let others fuck me and pay me. Deep and dark thinking I acknowledged, as the train pulled into Leeds station.

Although the session wasn't due to start until seven, I got a cab straight to the studio, getting there just after five.

"There's going to be four of them Jayne, okay?" Max explained, as I sat in his office, propped up against his desk sipping a glass of white wine he'd given me to 'relax me,' as he put it.

"Sure, so does that increase my fee?" I asked.

"Yes of course," he replied, "it'll be three hundred quid so you can afford to upgrade from the Premier Inn if you want," he grinned.

He went on to explain that there would be two video cameras on tripods as well as the handheld still cameras each guy would use. "It'll be quite intense Jayne; they don't like messing around so they'll get loads of stuff in an hour or so."

"So how will I know what to do?" I asked, as Max again ogled my chest making me wonder whether he was being straight about Mrs. Max.

"Don't worry love," he said, "they're not shy in coming forward, they'll let you know."

"Okay then, good," I said, hopefully sounding a great deal more confident than I felt.

"We've got bags of time so let's just run through some of the shots from that last session."

"Sure," I replied, as he explained that he had copies of a few of the photographs that had been taken.

"For the record Jayne, and er, sometimes for my um, what, er, personal use if you get my drift."

I didn't ask but assumed he meant he used them for masturbation which, in a way slightly excited me and made me feel flattered. But then, when he opened up his laptop and brought me up on the screen, embarrassment was added to those emotions. It really was the strangest sexually biased situation I had ever been in. To be sitting with a virtual stranger looking at shots of myself as I gradually shed my clothes was quite amazing. That was added to when Max commented on some of my poses with both compliments and some suggestions as to how they could be improved.

I got more nervous as the time of the photographers' arrival got nearer and by six-thirty or so I was in a pretty bad place. Max had left me alone in the small changing room, 'to titivate myself' so I fussed around with my hair, which at that time in my life I wore quite long, down to my shoulders, and did my make-up, following Max's directions by being sparing with the lip gloss, foundation and mascara, just as I would have been without his 'advice.'

"Remember love," he'd said as he was leaving the changing room, putting his hand on my shoulder, "they haven't seen you in the flesh, just in film, so they might want a little show just to make sure I'm not conning them."

"What do you mean?"

"They might like to check out the goods, as it were, before they start shooting. Indians particularly don't like tats so they may wish to have a look, so perhaps just undies or nothing and a dressing gown when you meet them."

"With or without heels?"

"Oh, definitely with, they look great on you, but then most things do Jayne, or is it Marie?" he asked, quoting the name I had chosen for the group session, hardly realising at the time that it was the name of the woman James knew in Melbourne and had shagged on his recent trip. Why I'd chosen that I had no idea, but replied, "What do you suggest?"

"Well, the agreement that both you and them sign about releasing the copyright has to have your real name so they'll know it," he said, not removing his hand from my shoulder.

"Okay," I said, moving away so that he had to remove his hand from me, although it seemed reluctantly on his part. "I'd better get changed then."

"Yes, they could be here any minute and as much as I'd love to watch you changing, I had better be ready to meet and greet them.

I undressed and had a shower, being careful not to wet my hair. I dried off, powdered my body, and did my fingernails and toenails in a strong scarlet that matched my lip gloss. I slipped into a black lacy thong that snuggled tightly around my pubic mound and made a clear indentation in the material, making me wonder if I was rather prominent in that area. I was also showing a quite obvious camel's toe and so I fiddled with the material to stop it slipping in between my pussy lips. Looking over my shoulder I was pleased with the way it plunged right into the centre of the crease between the cheeks. Putting the thin, mid-thigh length silk dressing gown on, tying it loosely at the waist and sliding my feet into the four-inch strappy heels, I made a final inspection and thought I looked okay. Vanity is pretty important when you're a model, I smiled to myself, as Max came in after his usual cursory tap on the door.

"Oh my my, my, Maria," he crooned to the Tom Jones song Delilah, "you look fab love," he went on, coming up to me and kissing me thoughtfully on my head, thus avoiding messing up my make up. "They're all here in my office having a drink when you want to come and meet them."

"Well let's do it."

"Okay but first, I have a small present for you," he said, pulling a package from behind his back.

"What is it?"

"Have a look," he said, handing it to me.

"Jesus Max," I muttered realising that it was a vibrator in its packaging.

"Never been used love, until perhaps tonight. Have a look."

I undid the packaging and removed the dildo. Although I had one at home, this put that to shame - it looked massive. It was black, about two inches thick and looked to be about as long as my forearm, although I guess in reality it was around eight inches. The mere thought of it going up me made me gulp and a shudder ran through me.

"Try it, the batteries are in it, I think."

At first, I thought he meant to try it on me and I muttered, "What, now?"

"Just to make sure it works. It would be a big letdown if you tried it for the guys and nothing happened."

I switched it on and turned the dial up, altering the speed and said, "There, it works. Have they asked for me to use it?"

"No, and they may not, but then you might want to make use of it after they've finished, mightn't you?" he said with a big grin.

I didn't get what he meant at first and looking at him I asked. "What?"

"Well, I know how some of you models feel after a session and as Mrs Max doesn't allow any physical help from me, you might want to make use of it."

I felt quite embarrassed at what he said and didn't reply, but instead asked, "So where shall I put it?"

"I'll show you, come on."

As we walked across the studio floor towards the stairs, Max slid the vibe behind the backdrop and said, "So don't forget where it is."

The four guys were friendly and seemed professional as they asked questions and made some suggestions.

"Most of the posing will be explicit Marie, with lots of open leg shots. I take it that's fine?"

"Yes, sure," I replied.

"And touching and all that, you good for that?"

"Yes," I mumbled, rather ridiculously feeling really embarrassed, given what was shortly going to happen.

"And maybe cum for us? If you can that is, or if not, feign it."

"I'll try to but if not, yes, I can fake it."

One of the Indians seemed to lead the way and did most of the talking.

"Okay Marie, would you just remove the robe please and let's have a quick check although from what I see you measure up beautifully from the shots that Max showed us."

I undid the tie and slipped the robe off.

"Give us a slow twirl please."

After I did that, he thanked me and said, "Well, everything is in order, so let's get going shall we?"

"How do you want to start; I mean what shall I wear?" I asked putting the robe back on.

"I, or we I mean, assume you have all black underwear and hold ups?"

"Yes of course."

"That thong would do nicely," one of the other guys suggested.

"That's probably all you'll need then, right guys?" the lead Indian said looking around at his three colleagues who nodded and started to get up, but Max interrupted.

"Ok guys, let's let Marie pop down to the dressing room and get changed, okay."

Smiling my thanks at him, I scooted out of his office and went downstairs and got ready. I kept the thong on, slipped into a pair of long black lacy topped holdups and fitted my boobs into a skimpy bra that was cut quite acutely across each mound, just about covering each nipple. Rather worryingly, though it hadn't bothered the photographers when they saw them in Max's office, my always quite prominent nipples were hard and looked to me to be bloody massive. Momentarily, I wondered if that was a good thing photogenically but had no answer.