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K R I S T E N' S C O L L E C T I O N
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WARNING!
This text file contains sexually explicit
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type of literature, or you are under age,
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Unemployed
by Old Bill (address withheld)
***
A college student in need of funds loses one job but
finds another quickly if somewhat painfully. (MF, nc)
***
"Amy," Bill Brown said with a tight smile, "I'm sorry,
but this is the last one. I have to let you go. You
know how bad business has been."
I just nodded and tucked the brown envelope into the
back pocket of my jeans. "It's been fun," I said,
bending to kiss his cheek and giving him one last good
look at my bared rack. "I understand." We had fucked a
couple of times in the back room, but he was a very
quick and disappointing lover, undersized and
overweight. And it was certainly true that the boutique
wasn't doing any business these days and my teen shop
was dead, absolutely dead. No $200 jeans were moving
off the shelves.
"Look," he said, handing me a business card, "go see
this guy. He hires on a commission basis, modeling you
understand. Maybe he can help you out."
The card said "Grayson's Girls" and the name was Mark
Grayson, the office nearby. I sure needed a job if I
was going to stay in school, so I hiked over there and
asked to see him, using Mr. Brown's name. His secretary
looked like an escapee from Hustler or Penthouse, a
gun-chewer with untamed hair and silicone boobs. I knew
I could go back to stripping if I had to, but I really
hated those people and the smell of the roadhouse and
the men I had to let use my body in order to survive.
You know, sex is fine and I usually enjoyed it, but
doing blowjobs for money was a drag.
The big man, gray haired and wrinkle faced, sat behind
a messy desk and talked on the phone. He waved me to a
chair, looking me up and down as he did, pursing his
fat lips. Since I was wearing my short boots and skin-
tight jeans plus a scoop-necked top, my uniform for
work, I suspect he liked what he saw. I have a thirty-
six inch inseam and a thirty-six inch chest to go with
it with a taut waist in between. When he got off the
phone he smiled and I introduced myself. We shook hands
and he held mine a bit too long.
"You done any modeling?" he asked, putting aside his
unlit cigar and adjusting his crotch openly.
"Nope," I told him, "but I'm wiling to try. I'm in
college, a junior, and I need the money to keep going."
"If I find you work, I take a third and you pay taxes
on the rest, OK?"
"I guess," I said. "How much?"
"Most of my girls make fifty an hour around here, some
more, a few less. College pays seventy-five for art
classes. The porn, well that's different, a job rate,
five thousand a flick is about the usual."
"Porn?"
"Sure, you know, adult stuff. Sells like mad, internet
too, good money."
I just shook my head. I had seen some, but I sure
didn't want to fuck in public. For exercise, yes, for
fun, yes; for money, no.
"Take off your shirt; lemme see your boobs," he said,
leaning back in his chair.
I took a deep breath and pulled my light sweater over
my head and tossed back my hair, bracing my shoulders.
I was proud of my breasts and enjoyed having guys play
with them. They were, I must admit, beauties, high and
hard, the nipples big and fat, the valley deep and
shadowed.
"Stand up," he said, "walk to the door and back."
I did that and he said. "Not bad, shed the bra. They
naturals?"
I nodded as I reached behind me and then shrugged the
lacy thing off. I only had two and this one was a
Vickie’s push-up special that really lifted my boobs
nicely. Cleavage I had, enough to bury a cock in, one
of my specialties.
"Bounce 'em," he said, and I just glared at him.
He laughed. "OK sweetie, go though there and meet my
photographer, name's Phil. He'll make a set for us to
use, you know, show around, and I'll get a contract
ready for you."
The cameraman was busy taking pictures of some bright-
colored plates and cups in a small, white box so I just
stood with my sweater and bra in my hand and watched.
He was a nice looking young man, tall and muscular. He
looked up, grinned and said, "Be right with you." My
nipples stared right back at him, hardening in the air
conditioning, poking out and looking for attention. I
lifted one to my mouth and licked it. It liked that and
poked out pleasantly.
When Phil stood he was all of six-two, and he smiled at
my boobs and said, "Nice pair. He want a portfolio?"
"I think," I told him, feeling my pussy quiver just a
bit. His jeans were very tight and bulged
interestingly. I hadn't enjoyed sex with a male for
almost two weeks and I really needed it. I thought
about Phil rutting between my legs with my buttocks in
his big hands, seemed like a good idea to me so I
pushed them out, right in his face. He smiled.
"OK, why don't we start nude and then get you dressed.
You can hang your stuff over there and I'll set up the
lights."
"Nude?" I asked, blinking at him, glad I had shaved my
pubic hair down to a small knot.
He nodded and walked away so I struggled out of my
jeans, peeled off my panties, and followed him,
barefoot and feeling foolish. There were tape marks on
the floor and he told me to stand on the X and turn
sideways and then he adjusted my head, pushed in the
small of my back, told me to inhale and started
shooting and telling me to move this way and that.
After ten minutes or so he handed me some ice and told
me to rub my nipples, lift an arm, get on my toes, suck
in my gut, turn my head, look up, lick my lips.
I ended up on hands and knees, smiling at his lens, and
then he told me to fetch a couple of bikinis and handed
me a bottle of water while he changed the back of his
camera. I was just barely sweating but the lights were
hot. We did the bikinis, taking them on and off for the
camera, standing and kneeling, and Phil asked me at one
point as I took a deep breath and really thrust out my
pair of 36's, stretching the flimsy top, "You grow
those?"
I laughed and he stroked and then squeezed my left
breast making the areole bulge and said, "Very nice" as
he stretched out my nipple. "Now get one of those
bright tops and the straw hat." My nipple felt
disconnected or something, unplugged and things were
getting kind of fuzzy.
Fifteen minutes later, after some mini-skirt and
peasant blouse shots with a big fan blowing and then
some tight sweater poses, I was doing one of those
yearbook-types in a velvet draped gown and the water
bottle was empty and my lips wet and brain muddled. He
brushed back my hair, and I smelled his eagerness, his
sweat. Phil put aside his camera, turned off the lights
and led me to an old sofa in the back of his studio.
"Strip," he said as he began to undress.
I just stood there blinking at him and feeling like my
head was not working at all. Once he was bare and his
big cock was sticking straight out at me, looking
delicious, he helped me peel off the pinned-up dress
and then laid me down, licked my slot deeply until I
was hot and wet and then drove his big cock up into me
while I wrapped him in my long legs and tried to
remember what his name was as he lifted me up on my
head and shoulders, getting to his knees for a while
and tried to push his balls into me.
My pussy actually sucked him in; I could feel my lips
fluttering and closing on his thick shaft. He was good,
really good. He brought me off quickly and then settled
down to do some serious plowing, rocking from side to
side and pushing my legs around. I kept hearing
somebody groaning and moaning and finally figured out
it was me.
I can't say that I remember much about what we did, but
it was fast, hard and sloppy, and when we were done
there were gobs of sperm oozing out of my puffy-lipped
gash, and Phil was lying on the floor, arms spread
wide. He was smiling and his cock was red and limp.
He helped me get back into my jeans and bra, kissed me,
pawed me, tongued me, patted my ass and sent me down
the hall, telling me to find a guy named Marco, telling
me to be careful for some reason. Feeling confused but
satisfied and with his spend on my thighs, I pulled my
thin sweater on and wobbled down and found Marco who
was working at an editing machine. "Be right with ya,"
he said as I stood behind him and watched pictures of
some little blonde being fucked by a big, black guy
with an enormous dong.
"That real?" I asked.
"Naw, plastic, but pretty good, huh?" Marco turned and
faced me. He was very hairy. "Mark said you'd be down.
We're gonna shoot maybe a five minute thing, just to
see how you look, no dialogue. I've got these guys
dressed for another flick. OK? No script or nothing,
just do what comes natural and put up a good fight.
Understand? Feel free to yell and kick."
By then whatever Phil had put in the bottle of water he
gave me was really kicking in, and I must admit I don't
remember what happened after that except that some big
guys were involved, the lights were bright, two
cameramen were working and there was a lot of groaning
and the sounds of sucking and bodies smacking together.
I ended up with a couple of bruises and a really well-
fucked pussy, sore and sloppy, and a foul taste in my
mouth, a sore throat and some sticky stuff in my hair.
When Marco was satisfied, he helped me find my clothes
and then kind of trapped me in his little editing room,
bent me over his desk and rammed his prick into me from
behind. At first I barely felt it. But he was
persistent and practiced; I buried my face in my balled
up jeans to keep from screaming when I came. His cock
was big and heavy, hard as iron, more like a fist than
a pole. He snorted with every thrust, and he did a lot
of them, lifting me up on my toes now and then, jerking
me around and mauling my sore breasts.
Back in Mr. Grayson's office, I was starting to gather
myself mentally and feeling halfway normal, becoming
aware that I had had been drugged, used and abused. I
even started to feel angry. I sat where he pointed and
a screen came down from the ceiling and together we
looked at the set of pictures Phil took and then a
short movie in which my clothes were ripped off and I
was raped on an iron bed by a pair of guys dressed as
cowboys. I did not remember any of it, but I did recall
using XTC once when I was in high school, so I figured
out what had happened.
The boss backed the film up and ran through the double-
team part again where I was bent nearly double, and I
understood why I had such a nasty taste in mouth and
such as sore groin.
I swallowed a couple of times and blinked, and then we
looked through some of the stills again. "Looks good to
me, honey." He handed me a clipboard. "Just sign down
there at the bottom. I already got you a job Saturday
if you want it. Five thousand for five hours work,
hardcore."
"You mean porn?" I asked.
"Yep," he said. "No anal sodomy, honest. I don't allow
that."
I signed and he handed me five twenties. "That's for
the short. It's good enough to sell in the Japanese
market once we get it edited. They've got these little
machines, coin operated, show quick ones, peep shows."
I just nodded, just working my way through college.
END
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This story was written as an adult fantasy. The author
does not condone the described behavior in real life.
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Kristen's collection - Directory 60