Pose Ch. 03

"Of course, you will, but that's not the point. You won't have endless opportunities to repair a mistake when you enter the actual industry, man. Next time, make sure you don't forget, got it?"

"Yes Chloe." He took his camera, disconnecting it from the computer. "I'll make you proud, I promise."

"You better, boy."

Another slave day. It was 7PM, and the boys were playing games again. I knelt below them, in front of the couches. My hands were cuffed behind my back and so were my ankles, and I had a collar around my neck. That was the only thing I wore, that and eyeliner, mascara, and dark burgundy lipstick, though the lipstick was starting to wear off. Wiping my lips on so many cocks for so long was bound to cause that after all...

There were blowbangs were they stood and surrounded me to fuck my face. I would make the blowjobs sloppy and messy. And then there were the evenings when they sat down to play games or watch sports, and these tended to be relaxing evenings, and so my blowjobs were relaxing too. This wasn't about gagging and slurping, it was about slow, loving worship. I wasn't sucking their cocks; I was making love to them with my mouth.

I loved these blowjobs the best. I could hone my skill and my talent. I could take it slow and savor the moment. I would run my mouth across their shafts, feeling that stone-hard, virile manliness in my mouth. I would lick slowly and kiss. It wasn't about making them cum either, in fact it wasn't even about them. There was a set time for all the guys: 5 minutes. They each had 5 minutes during which I would suck their cocks. Whether they unloaded in that time frame was none of my concern, since I had to move to the next cock.

It wasn't about pleasuring them; it was about making me happy. I had explained to the boys that the best way for me to reach my altered headspace was through these blowjobs, and they were allowing me to access it. I entered the headspace when the humiliation, the degradation and the comfort were at their maximum point. All the elements; the one sided nudity, my restraints, their degrading language, how they sat and almost ignored me while I dedicated every cell in my body to the blowjob; all these elements brought me into that meditative headspace. The blowjobs' movements helped too—up and down the shaft, slowly, again and again. It was hypnotic. It was a trance.

I looked up with adoring eyes at Harry, whose cock was presently in my mouth. His hand rested on my head and caressed my hair lovingly. I had entered the headspace for a good thirty minutes by now, and all of me, every cell in my body and soul felt nothing more than the desire to submit to his cock, utterly and completely. For the moment, there was nothing in the universe but me and his cock, and his cock was my favorite thing in the universe.

"I love your cock, Harry," I whispered soothingly between two sucks. "Thank you so much..." Suck... "Thank you so much for letting me taste it..." Suck... "Thank you for putting it in my mouth..."

"Shhh..." he said, stern and commanding, his hand on my head being a constant reminder of his absolute, total authority over me. "Shut up and keep sucking, bitch. You don't get to talk. You just get to suck."

I moaned and obeyed, filling my mouth with his hard cock, stuffing my mouth with his strength, his authority, his domination. I closed me eyes and lost myself in the moment. My cellphone vibrated after a while on the coffee table behind me. The five minutes was done. I ended the blowjob and looked up at Harry. "Did I make you proud?" I asked.

"You did, bitch."

I giggled, then turned to look at the rest of the guys. I still had half to go—eight of them. I dragged myself over to Julian and smiled as his erect cock sprung out of his fly. "Hi there..." I whispered, ready for my delicious meal.

The date of the project's completion was near. We would be ready to submit to the photography contest in time, and I was more than confident that my leadership would win us the first prize. Alongside my career as a photographer, however, I had also begun another... career, if you wanna call it that. Matt was really proud of his photoshoot that featured me as the nude model—the one where I posed with the boys wearing suits. He asked if he could release those pics on his social account pages, where he showed off his work.

I accepted, and readily so, in fact. I was proud of those pics. I was proud of my body. I was proud of how free I was. Lots of people who knew me would see those pics, but I didn't care. I didn't want to hide what I was from the world. So what? I also liked posing nude and being sexy for photographers. It didn't remove anything from my own photography; it didn't make me any less of a talented photographer. After all, under my leadership, we were coming up with an incredible project.

At least that's how I saw it. Because then, four days before the submission of the projects was about to occur... something happened.

I was talking to Noah in the college cafeteria, one evening. And he recounted something that had become quite the rumor in the college. A rumor about ME. And surprisingly, it wasn't about my kinky activities with my classmates.

"Jim's old teacher, the 80-year-old..."

I remembered him. Our teacher, Jim, often invited his own teacher to speak in conferences about photography. Jim had organized a masterclass with him the day prior, though it was a masterclass to be attended by photographers from across the city and not just those in the college—we after all had benefited from Jim's contacts, and had received the old man many times in our classroom. None of us had been there, but supposedly, during the event, the old man had said something... ugly.

"Jim talked to him about our project, the city mosaic," Noah explained. "He was really proud that it was a female-led project, a female-vision and a male team under that... The old guy, uh... He chuckled and said something like..."

Noah looked uncomfortable recounting this to me. "He said what?"

"He said... that he's not surprised. That women can't do anything without men's help..."

I sunk into my chair. At first, I tried rationalizing it. "He's old," I thought. "It doesn't matter... Who cares? You're overreacting... It was just a comment..."

Just a comment... No. "Just a comment." What the fuck did that mean? That my standards for respect towards me had to be lowered? That as long as I wasn't physically abused, it was fine? No. The more I thought about it, the more... shitty I felt.

You would think I would have roared in flames and anger, but that wasn't the case. I just sunk into my chair, defeated and depressed. It made me feel... made me feel like shit. I had felt so proud, SO PROUD, to be the conceptual leader of my team... to be their mentor and guide. And now that old fuck had taken what I had done and twisted it to present it as "me unable to do anything without men."

"He's old, Chloe," Noah said. "Guy's from the forties, what do you expect..."

"I know."

Still, it changed nothing. I couldn't just let it go. I tried telling myself that his comment didn't matter. It didn't take anything away from all the work I had put in the mosaic, it didn't take away from the fact that I was the gang's leader when it came to photography. It didn't change the fact that I took every single decision—and even when I was naked and chained and sucking their cocks, even then, that dynamic and that context had been decided beforehand by ME.

The old man's comment should have meant nothing to me. And yet it persisted inside me and made me feel like shit. You know that feeling when you're certain someone likes you back, and then you find out they don't? That sort of black, heavy downer? I couldn't stop thinking about it.

A day passed, and during that whole day, I tried thinking the comment away, but it didn't work. I couldn't even look at the mosaic in Photoshop anymore. It was slowly coming to life, and it had so much promise... But now I had lost all passion towards it.

Then, in the evening, I had had enough. I packed up my photography equipment and put it all in a backpack. The boys noticed me leaving with it.

"Chloe?" Chris asked, confused.

I sighed and turned to them. My decision was made, and they deserved to know. "I'm not finishing the mosaic, guys."

Their eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "What?"

"Why?"

"Is it because of what the old guy said?"

"You can't just give up because of what he said..."

"I'm not giving up on the contest, guys," I assured. "I'm giving up on this project specifically. I won't be sending it to the contest."

"So we're doing another? From scratch?" Sam asked.

"I'm doing another..." I sighed. "Without you guys." They understood pretty quickly. They understood why. It hurt to see their sadness; it really did. It was like watching bear cubs getting abandoned by mama bear. Without her, they would get torn to pieces by the other predators in a matter of days. "You can still finish the mosaic and send it. It'll be your project, I'm O.K with that."

"No," Chris said. "It was always YOUR project. It wouldn't be right."

"Yeah," Ben said. "And it's not like we can finish it anyway, none of us can. You're the best at taking the pics, at Photoshop... Without you, we can't do it."

These two seemed to understand my plight, but others looked more angry and disheartened. "We worked so hard on this, Chloe..." Peter complained. "You're throwing all our work into the garbage can."

"Yes I am," I answered sternly. "I'm sorry about it but I have to do it. I HAVE to participate in the contest alone, on my own, as the only photographer. I understand what I'm doing. I know I'm fucking all of you over and throwing one month of work in the garbage, but I don't have a choice. It's about standing up for my dignity. You're guys, you're never gonna have to deal with that. I do. And if I do nothing about it, then I'm complicit."

Most of them were bitterly disappointed. But all of them understood to an extent. The leader had to leave her men, and they would end up as a bunch of lost, headless chicken without her... But it was necessary. I said goodbye to them and took a taxi. A motel in the city was my stop: I needed somewhere to spend the evening alone.

Once in the motel, I lost no time. I took my phone and dialed a number—a number I had been given that night where I had first posed nude.

"Hello?" The voice was deep and sounded like it could belong to a James Bond type character.

"Hey Pete. Recognize me?"

"Oh, hey Chloe!"

I could tell he was happy to hear my voice. After all, the first and last time he had seen me, I had stripped naked in front of him, made out with him and blown him—he was one of Matt's male models from the photoshoot with the boys in suits. We talked for a bit, and I explained my current predicament. He was more than ready to help me out—he was a model, after all. I only needed one last confirmation from him. "So, Pete... are you comfortable with nudity?"

To my delight, he was.

Two days later, which meant two days before the submission date for the contest, I met Pete in a studio I had rented downtown. It was great to see him again, and even better to look at him again, with that muscular body of his and that handsome, black-haired Pierce Brosnan-like charm. The other models entered soon after. There were five of them, and I welcomed all five women. They went to the bathroom and changed into their attire for the photoshoot. By the time they were all ready, they all had their business suits on. I turned to Pete and smiled.

"Ok then," I said, eager to see what was hiding under those clothes. "Take it all off."

With swagger and confidence, he stripped completely naked and threw away his clothing. God damn... Pete had it all—the six pack, the arms, the marathon runner legs and the not-that-bad cock. I turned to the other girls and smiled. "Not that bad, huh?"

They ogled and leered at the bare boy in front of them. It was a universal consensus—Pete was one quality piece of meat. I might have been a vegetarian, but it seemed I had good taste for selecting my meat nonetheless...

"Turn around," I ordered, really wanting to see what that ass looked like. I wasn't disappointed, not one bit. He was something like Taylor Lautner and Daniel Craig's bodies with a young Pierce Brosnan's face. Appearance had always been only a plus for me, but... Well, pluses are nice too. "Alright," I said, "on your knees."

He obeyed and lowered himself. The photoshoot began, and I had the ladies surround him, standing around and over him, clothed and clad and powerful, while the only boy was naked and on his knees. They groped and fondled his body, feeling up his hard muscles and every curve of his figure.

As time passed, we added more and more. A collar, then wrist cuffs, then ankle cuffs too, and a collar and leash... I had the ladies pull his hair, spank him, feel him up... One of my favorite poses was him, on his knees, with his head lowered towards the ground and the model called Sarah resting her hand on his head—both protecting him and keeping him in his place. "Know your place, Pete," I thought, and he sure knew his.

But just as important was the location. I had rented that specific studio for a reason—it faced the main square of our city's downtown district. The big windows of the empty studio faced the skyscrapers as well as the hundreds of cars, restaurants, and streetlights below. And since it was nighttime, the studio was basking in the light of the entire downtown district: purple, red, yellow, and blue colors were mixing and mingling in the background. It looked like something out of a dream. As I kept taking the pictures, I already knew they were the best ones I had ever taken.

The shoot ended four hours later. I said goodbye to the ladies and especially thanked Pete for his support. He was more than happy to have experienced that raw, daring shoot. I knew what it felt like, and I knew why he was so content. We said goodbye, and I returned to my motel. There, using the motel's Wi-Fi and my laptop, I entered the site for the annual photography contest... And sent my pics there.

The call came two days later. My photoshoot and I had been selected as one of the ten finalists. Do you think I jumped up and screamed happily when I got the news? I didn't—I knew my pics would at least make it this far. Does that make me arrogant? Sure. And I don't apologize for it.

I was invited to the gala. The ten finalists would present their projects in front of a crowd there, and the winner would deliver a speech after she or he was announced. I wore my best suit and joined the gala near the city's downtown district, in the Marilyn Theater. There was drink and talking, but I was like a ghost floating there. All I cared about was the results.

The presentations began at 8 PM, and one by one, we ten finalists were called to the stage to show off our projects and talk about them. Mine was by far the most daring, the raunchiest, the most passionate... I'll admit there were others that were better on the technical side of things... But on the poetic side... I knew mine was the best.

I described what the project was about and why I had made it. I told the audience of the inspiration behind it—the comment by Jim's old professor, and me abandoning my original project... "Because I couldn't stay silent," I said, holding the mic in front of that audience of hundreds. "Because I know what is true. And what's true is that I'm strong too." I received applause and acclaim from the audience.

A break was declared, and the winner would be declared in twenty minutes as the jury deliberated. I returned to the backstage area where the drinks and food were being served. I felt good about myself, but it wasn't enough. I had to win. I just had to.

I saw a middle-aged woman approach. She was the contest's co-presenter, a very classy, politician looking lady. She shook my hand and congratulated me.

"I'm Melany," she said. "That was an amazing speech there, Chloe."

I thanked her but shrugged. I didn't think what I had done deserved applause. If anything... I found it sad that I had to do it. It would have been better had there been no use for me to abandon my original project. But that stupid old fuck had ran his mouth off, and the burden of dignity and action had fallen on me. But I was a woman of action. Always had been. And when necessity showed itself, I didn't turn it down.

"That was incredibly inspiring, Chloe. You were brave to stand up."

It wasn't brave, it was necessary. I wasn't brave for having stood up, but I would have been a coward for not doing it. Melany left with a wink. She was one of the judges in the jury, and it seemed that my chances were good. I took a deep breath. The moment of truth would come soon.

My cellphone vibrated. I opened it and found my classmates texting me and wishing me good luck. I sent them a selfie of me blowing them a kiss. They were sending their support of their leader, and it warned my heart. After all the support and all the mentorship I had given them as a photographer, it was great to receive some of theirs in return.

The minutes passed, and the participants were called to the stage. The anticipation wasn't long; the winner was announced quickly. They gave me the trophy and a monetary prize of a thousand dollars. I walked up to the podium and gave a short speech thanking the jury for choosing my project. And to the girls who were listening, I said: "Don't let anyone put you down. If they say you're weak, know that they're also weak. If they say they're strong, know that you're also strong."

I thanked everyone and shook hands. With my trophy in hand, I sat in the empty backstage area after having called an Uber. As I waited for it to arrive, I texted my classmates and thanked them for their support. They were more than happy for me, and all sense of bitterness for me abandoning them and our project seemed to be gone. I was glad they understood. I had fucked them over, I knew I had. All their effort and their work had been for nothing, but... I had to do it. And I was proud of myself for it.

The Uber had arrived, and I was about to leave through the entrance where the tickets were sold, when suddenly, I heard steps approaching. Angry steps at that. They were stomping towards me.

"Chloe!" I heard. I turned and saw Melany angrily walking towards me. The rest of the jury was behind her too, and none seemed too content. What the fuck was going on? "We need to talk, now."

"What is it?" I asked, confused.

"We were about to officially declare the results on social media, but we stopped. Our social media teams found something." She showed me her cellphone. There I was on the screen, nude and surrounded by the pretty boys. It was Matt's photoshoot.

"So? What is it? Yeah, I like nude modelling on the side. An artist can be many things, Melany..."

One of the judges, a man, spoke up from behind Melany. "Nude modelling is one thing, but this? You're kneeling before men in suits, they're pulling your hair!'

I just looked at those angry faces with utter confusion. "So what? You've never heard of BDSM? Guys, it's an entire community, it's like the most common kink out there."

Melany tried to suppress her anger and took a deep breath. "Chloe... You just brought a story of strong female leadership, of equality. And in your free time, you pose for sexist pictures like this?"

I couldn't believe the words coming out of their mouths. "Yes, a story of equality. Here's one photoshoot with a nude man dominated by clothed women, and here's another with a nude woman dominated by clothed men. Seems pretty equal to me..."

They were in total disagreement with me. They shook their heads. "You wanted to push a good message tonight, Chloe," another man said. "We wanted to help you push that message. But you can't contradict the message this way."