At 19, in my last year of high school, first I got pregnant and then I got married. Marrying me may have been the only honorable thing my husband ever tried to do.
Just the other day, my husband was laid-off, again. With one kid to support and another on the way, our prospects didn’t look good. Telling me that it was time I got a job, he announced that he was leaving town for a few weeks to go fishing with a few of his laid-off buddies. This left me, at 21, with too many responsibilities, too few qualifications, and none of the experience needed to land a decent job.
I suppose I should have been suspicious when I saw an ad saying I could make between $400 and $4,000 a day as a model, but I have always been a little too naïve. Like I said, I should have been suspicious, but instead, I was desperate.
I called the number in the ad. The fellow who answered, Peter, asked if I had ever modeled. I hadn’t. He then asked me some questions about my looks. Although I lack self-confidence, men seem to consider me attractive enough: blond, long legs on a 5’8” frame, a nice firm bum, heavy breasts with protruding nipples (made soft because I was still breast-feeding my son), and a slim tummy that had yet to really show the effects of my second pregnancy. Peter asked me to drop by the next day. First, though, he wanted me to get a facial and a manicure, and to buy a few things.
The next day, after I dropped my son off, I went as instructed to a beauty salon at a local mall. A lady named Dolores, who often did this sort of work for Peter, fixed me up. She also offered to help me with my shopping. She assured me that my navy skirt and a white blouse would be fine for a preliminary photo shoot, but she advised me to buy a nice push-up bra and matching high-cut panties. On a whim, I also bought elasticized stockings and a pair of black pumps. I then bussed to Peter’s studio.
After a bit of chitchat, Peter showed me some samples of his work. He explained that since I was married, he thought I would be most comfortable modeling cosmetics or clothes – skirts, blouses, lingerie, etc. - for local retailers. The money - $400 a day – seemed good, but it left me wondering what I had to do to earn more. That, he explained, would involve modeling in the nude and, as he delicately put it, “performing in ways not really compatible with being married, and especially not with being pregnant.”
When I tried to find out a little more, Peter said, “Let me put it this way. What would your husband think about you having sex with other men?” I explained the situation my husband had placed me in, then looked at the wedding band on my finger, twisting it nervously. It was a modest ring, but symbolically important. “I’m not sure I could even bring myself to ask him.” It was an odd answer.
“If this makes you uncomfortable, we can stop. I really don’t think this is your cup of tea”, said Peter. “No, it’s OK, go ahead”, I replied. “OK, then, do you know what it is like to be with more than one man at a time, or to have others watch?” Peter continued. “If you mean all at one time, then not exactly”, I replied, and proceeded to sketch out for him how I lost my virginity.
I was young and had a crush on a local high school football player who was a few years older than me. After months of trying to get his attention, he finally asked me to a party. Once there, he plied me with drinks and then asked if I wanted to make out. Being young and naïve, I thought my prayers had been answered. Being older and horny, he knew his prayers had been answered.
I let him guide me to one of the bedrooms. At first we just laid on the bed and kissed, but then things started to spin out of control. He moved his hand to my breast. “Stop”, I said and moved it away. A short while later, he moved it back. Again, I said “No”, but rather than fight him, I covered his hand with mine to try and limit his movement. Nobody had ever touched me like that before, and I guess I was flattered. When he reached inside my sweater, I said, “Please don’t”, but I put up no resistance, letting him fondle my breasts and tug at my nipples.
He then guided my hand to his pants and, for the first time in my life, I felt a male member grow in response to my touch. This gave me a false sense of control, which turned to fear when he wrestled it out of his pants. After a moment’s hesitation, however, I resumed stroking him. Surprisingly, I liked the way his cock felt in my hand, but being new to the game, I had no idea what effect this was having on him.
I began to get worried when I felt him put his hand on my thigh and then run it up the back of my leg and under my dress to caress my bum. He then commanded me to open my legs. Out of my mouth came the word “No”, but I said it without conviction, and when he forced his hand down my panties, I parted my legs without being asked again, giving him access to my clit. To my surprise, I began to enjoy the feelings he was bringing forth. My hips betrayed me, responding with urgency to his fingers. I found I had neither the power nor the will to resist. I opened my legs wide and let him have his way. He took that as encouragement to go further.
He then positioned himself between my legs, pulled my panties roughly aside and started to rub the tip of his cock up and down my virgin cunt. Ignoring my whispered pleas to stop, and without waiting for me to become fully lubricated, he thrust himself in, tearing my hymen. In pain, I screamed “No. Oh God. Please don’t.” He ignored my cries and kept pumping. After just a few more thrusts, I felt him come inside.
We lay there together for a while, him panting, me whimpering. He refused to get off. At first I felt his member grow soft inside me … but then I felt it grow hard again. He then began pumping me with long, slow strokes. He kissed me with soft, wet kisses. He told me how beautiful I looked. Where once there was pain, now there was pleasure. This time I felt a tingling sensation that seemed to grow with every stroke.
Of their own accord, my hips moved to meet his thrusts, urging him on. I wrapped my legs around him, trying to pull him more deeply inside me. I found that I couldn’t help myself from moaning in rhythm with his strokes. I showered him in hot, wet kisses. Minutes earlier, I had wanted him to stop. Now I found myself begging for more.
“Do you want me to stop?” he whispered, resting the tip of his cock on my clit, bringing me to the edge of orgasm, desperate for his next thrust.
“Don’t stop”, I breathed as he slid deeply into me.
“Want to be my girl?” he teased, again hesitating.
“Yes” I sighed, eager to have him slide into me again.
“Will you do what I say?” he demanded.
“Yes”, I breathed, kissing him.
“Anything?” he asked, looking into my eyes.
“Anything”, I confessed, as he again reached bottom.
“Everything?” he asked, again hesitating, his cock teasing, my clit, again bringing me to the edge.
“Anything and everything”, I replied, “just fuck me”.
He began pumping furiously. Everyone at the party must have heard us. As I was about to reach orgasm, I felt him come inside me, leaving me hanging, desperate for just a little more.
This time he withdrew, saying he needed a beer, and began to get dressed. I started to do the same, but he stopped me. Part of being his girl, he said, involved being nice to his friends. I had no idea what he was talking about but, being eager to please, I said “Of course.” He instructed me to wait.
Lying there on bloody sheets, the first of his friends came into the room. Ignoring my protests, he stripped off my clothes and then his own. He then grabbed me by the hips and swung me over to the edge of the bed. He grasped my legs by the ankles and spread them far apart. In no time at all he was inside me and soon after that he came. Embarrassed, he left.
The next guy to enter the room was big, black, and also in a hurry to get started. Positioning me on my knees, he took me like a dog. Because my cunt was filled with come from the others, he slipped his tool into me with ease, despite its size. Unlike the previous guy, he had plenty of stamina and once he got going, he knew how to turn me on. Sometimes he would tease me by rubbing the head of his cock againts my clit. Sometimes he would inch the tip of his cock in and out of my cunt, stretching my lips and making me squirm in anticipation of his thrust, but then withdrawing. Sometimes he would cup my breasts as they swayed in rhythm to his thrusts, pulling gently on my nipples with moistened fingers, making them stiff and sensitive.
I really liked it when he would reach under me to stroke my distended clit … but the thing I liked best was when he would use slow, rhythmic strokes, thrusting all the way in to the point where his balls would slap against my clit. This sent a tingling sensation deep inside me, which grew and grew. The thing that brought me to orgasm for the first time in my life was when, after such a rhythmically fucking, he withdrew his cock, grabbed me by the hips, raised my ass in the air, brought it to his face, then licked first my clit and then my asshole. I had no idea a body could feel that way.
Shaken by convulsions, exhausted, I collapsed on the bed … but he was still not finished, so he flipped me over and I lay there, letting him use me for his own pleasure until he too deposited his seed in me. There must have been others that night. After a while, it was all a blur, and then I passed out.
They just left me there, which is where I woke up the next morning; sad, sore, and bloodied. Waking up beside me, naked, was the fellow in whose apartment the party had been held. Not knowing how to extract myself, I let him caress me. It is hard for a girl to preserve her modesty when one is lying buck naked beside a stranger, nipples growing hard as one’s breasts are fondled, cunt growing wet as one’s thighs are caressed. One thing led to another and soon we were kissing passionately. I couldn’t resist letting him finger me to orgasm. Then he fucked me. Afterwards we showered together. Before I left I let him ride me again, this time doggie-style. I never did get his name. I was lucky I didn’t get pregnant. But I did get a reputation.
“Rough introduction”, Peter said sympathetically. I concluded that he was right. I would probably get into less trouble if I kept my clothes on while modeling. Peter then suggested that we proceed with an initial photo session, just to see how I was in front of a camera. I agreed and I let him lead me back to his studio.
Before we began, Peter explained that if he was to market me successfully, we needed to develop a great portfolio. To do that, I needed to see past the camera and realize that my job was to capture the attention of the audience. It couldn’t be done with words. It had to be done with looks. I needed to get the audience to associate the product I was promoting with someone who was alluring and irresistibly attractive.
Now that I understood the image he wanted me to project, Peter began the session with a series of facial close-ups, designed to help him market me as a potential cosmetics model. I began to enjoy putting on a show. Peter’s focus was on me, and I enjoyed it immensely. I also found that I was comfortable working with him. He paid me many gracious compliments. It had been a long while since any man, including my husband, had paid this much attention just to me.
After the close-ups, we moved on to full-length shots to assess my suitability as a clothes model. Peter asked me to strike a variety of poses. At first, I had some trouble following his direction and I apologized for my awkwardness. He told me not to worry. He said that if I concentrated on bringing out the alluring, seductive woman inside me, I would be fine … and so it was. He took a few standing shots, including a mildly erotic one of me from behind, legs apart.
Changing cameras, he then asked me to sit on the ground and draw my legs up to my chest. He took pictures from a number of angles, but as he approached the front, I am sure the tops of my stockings were visible, as were my panties. I was worried that they might reveal a growing moistness, but I did as I was told and enjoyed the compliments. Peter then had me straddle a wooden chair. Of course my skirt rode up as I spread my legs apart. This made me feel like a vixen, but visually it must have worked, even though he only shot me from the side, because Peter was very complimentary.
Peter then advised that we needed to move on the lingerie portion of the photo shot and that, if I was at all uncomfortable, we would stop immediately. Still straddling the chair with my legs apart, I began to undo the buttons of my blouse. He told me to go slowly, and to caress my breasts as I went along. I complied, and could feel the dampness between my legs grow. Peter took many pictures, including a series of shots with me leaning forward, my breasts struggling against the bra. I reveled in the attention as I removed my blouse and let him take a variety of close-ups. He then said he wanted some shots from the side with my nipples more prominently visible in the bra, so he asked me to pull on them. I did as instructed, only to feel my still-lactating breasts begin to leave damp spots on the bra. I was uncertain how this would appear on film, but Peter seemed pleased with the result.
He then asked if I was ready to pose for some panty shots. I nodded. Changing cameras again, he had me move over to a sofa. Standing beside it, with my back to him, he had me remove my skirt. He then had me turn and look back at him over my shoulder, spreading my legs provocatively. Peter took many pictures, including some close-ups, posing me first one way and then another. Where once I had been damp, now I had now grown wet. I am sure he sensed just how excited I had become.
“Do you want to continue?” he asked. Not knowing any better, I nodded. He instructed me to lay down on my side on the sofa and rest my head in my right hand. He then asked me to spread my legs. Thinking things might have gone too far, but also not wishing to stop, I did as I was told. My parties, once damp, were now soaked with my juices and on full display. He then told me to close my eyes and begin stroking the inside of my thigh with my left hand. I ran my fingers slowly back and forth from the knee up to the elastic at the crotch of my panty, losing myself in the feeling. Without meaning to do so, I then brushed my clit through the outside of my panties and let out an involuntary gasp. I heard Peter say “Naughty girl.”
I desperately wanted to slip my finger underneath my panties, to feel the wetness. Before I could do so, Peter instructed me to lie on my back, placing my left leg over the top of the sofa and my right leg on the floor. With my legs spread wide open, I could feel my pussy juice running out of my cunt and down the crack of my ass. I had never been this wet before.
Peter continued to take pictures as I went back to caressing my thighs, unbidden. I could feel an orgasm building within me. Unable to resist any more, I slipped my left hand under the waistband. I heard Peter murmur “Gently now”. At first I just toyed with my hair, but soon enough my fingers found their way to my clit. I had never felt it so wet, so distended, so sensitive. A gentle caress, another, then another. I couldn’t help myself, I began to moan. I slid middle finger into my cunt: it had never slipped in so easily before. Another finger glided down the crack of my ass and rested on my anus, also wet with excitement. I felt so wicked. I was almost there. I heard Peter tell me how blissful my face looked, like I was in heaven. My legs started to spasm and shake. I hadn’t come like that in years.
As the orgasm subsided, I heard Peter apologize for having let things get out of hand. “Do you want to stop?” he asked. I shook my head no. “Are you sure?” he asked. Again I nodded. “Then let me see you touch yourself,” he said. Eager to please, I quickly removed my panties. Then spreading my legs for him, I began to stroke my clit. The more I did so, the more erect it became. With every stroke, it would bend under the pressure of my fingers, then spring back stiffly, sending a tingling sensation deep inside me. On each downstroke, I would insert my fingers into my cunt, or sometimes I would glide past my cunt to tease my anus. Rhythmically, my hips began to rock. God, it felt good.
I no longer cared about Peter’s camera. I begged him to join the fun. Instead, he whispered in my ear “I want to get a picture of you fingering yourself with your ring finger.” As dirty as this sounded, I could deny him nothing. Without ever having touched me, he had already shown me more gentle restraint than my husband had in all the years of our marriage. As I slowly slide my ring finger in and out of my cunt, he told me to insert just the tip of my middle finger into my anus. Doing such a dirty thing immediately made me shudder and moan, causing my juices to flow and bringing me to the brink of another overpowering organism. I felt so sinful.
“Perfect”, whispered Peter, as he snapped pictures of my wedding band resting just outside the entrance to my glistening cunt, “Now slide it in ever so slowly.” As it disappeared from view, Peter said “Bad girl. Hold that pose”. Doing so brought pressure on my clitoris, pushing me over the edge. I had never felt anything like this before. I had never done anything this dirty. With a low moan, my body was wracked with a powerful orgasm. I didn’t want it to stop, but eventually the waves subsided. Peter caught it all on film.
By this point, I just wanted Peter inside me. So far, he hadn’t touched me. Yes, I would be cheating, but I was long past caring. I wanted to be adulterous. Instead, he told me to remove my bra, get on my knees and rest my head on the seat of the sofa. My breasts hung down like a cow’s udder. My ass was pointed at him. It had been years since a man had seen me in this position, so exposed and vulnerable, so wanton. He told me to pull gently on my nipples. This caused then to begin lactating again. Peter took picture after picture, my face blissful, my breasts sensitive and dripping wet. I could feel the passion building within me again.
Changing cameras and repositioning himself, Peter had me slide my middle and ring fingers together into my cunt, wet with juices. I was then to slide my fingers over my clit, past the slit of my cunt, to my anus. My fingers were so wet, they felt like they were covered in oil. With each stroke, my clitoris became more and more aroused, wracking me with tingling sensations, and causing my juices to flow even more. I couldn’t believe how delicious it felt to be so wet, or how wonderfully wicked it felt to put on such a display for a stranger. My God, what a view Peter must have had.
Peter now told me to rest the tip of my ring finger on my asshole. He then told me to insert the tip of my finger into my anus, but to do it slowly because he wanted to capture it on film. First my nail disappeared from view. Then, without prompting, my finger glided in past the first knuckle and then to the second. My wedding band lay just outside my anus. I then heard Peter whisper, “Now go all the way. Make it disappear, but do it slowly”. Peter caught it all on film.
With my wedding ring buried in my ass, Peter told me to start rocking my hips. Wild with desire, and with my breasts swaying back and forth, I could feel myself in the grip of another intense orgasm. Moaning like an animal, my body was wracked by successively more powerful waves, and each time my sphincter tightened. As it did so, my wedding band began to slip from my finger. The lens of Peter’s camera captured the ring’s absence from my finger and he whispered in my ear “Let it go. I want to get this on film. This is what your husband deserves. Leave it in there.” With that, I squeezed hard, felt the ring slip completely off my finger, and I collapsed, exhausted … and certain in my own mind that I had been liberated, forever, from my hubby and his fishing buddies.