Sure enough,
she felt his hand close on her knee. It was like a self-fulfilling
prophecy. Up it travelled, pausing momentarily to see if she would
protest, then journeying on, finding the curve of her mons under
the little white panties. Julia's exclamation of indignation was
lost in the uproar surrounding them. Will didn't look at her, just
kept on talking.
'Gabor's a big
fish, Julia,' he said, and tickled the spot at the top of her
cleft, where the outer labia protected her clitoris. 'It's not wise
to tangle with him.'
'I must help
Arlene,' she insisted, increasingly uncomfortable, unable to stop
herself from resting against the back of the bench and slipping
down a fraction so that her mound was lifted towards his
fingers.
'Did I say you
shouldn't?' he went on calmly, and she felt him easing round the
edge of her knickers and starting to brush over her floss. 'Just be
careful.'
'Don't,' she
hissed. 'Someone may see you.'
'Unlikely,' he
answered, chuckling. 'You don't really want me to stop, do
you?'
Before she
could answer they were interrupted by a weedy man with a ferret
face and sparse, sandy hair who clapped Will on the shoulder,
shouting, 'Hello there, chummy. How's your belly off for spots? And
who are you, deary? What a choice bit of totty.'
He leered at
Julia and she was certain his base instincts had drawn him there,
just when Will was fingering her crotch. She disliked him
instantly, hating the way in which he smiled as he addressed her in
that disparaging tone. She escaped Will's hand under cover of the
table, sat up and rearranged her skirt, all without the newcomer
seeing, or so she hoped.
'Hello, George,' Will said, unimpressed. 'Sit you down, if you
can find a chair. This is Julia Jones. Julia, meet George Comby. He
was with me at the
Daily Courier
in our misspent youth.'
She nodded and
made appropriate noises, while George continued to give her
lecherous glances. With typical bad timing, the pierced and
tattooed youth on her other side got up and headed for the skittle
alley and the band. George instantly squeezed himself into the
vacant seat and set his whisky tot on the table.
'I'm warning
you, George, Julia is one of these new girls,' Will said. 'If you
refer to her again as "totty" you'll probably get a clip round the
ear.'
Ignoring
Will's advice, George continued to subject her to his lascivious
stares, pressing his bony thigh against hers. She couldn't move in
the close confinement of the table and bench, crushed between him
and Will. The bar was dimly lit, but she could see that both men
were flaunting erections: Will's jeans were bulging and George's
corduroy trousers were full beneath the fly buttons.
'What are you
doing in this neck of the woods?' Will asked. 'Not your usual
stamping-ground, is it?'
'Had to see a
man about a dog, if you get my drift,' George answered, squeezing
Julia's hand, which lay on the table. 'No, actually, it was to fix
up a photo-shoot. For a skin-mag, you know. Nice work if you can
get it.'
'I heard you
were concentrating on photography now,' Will said, and Julia was
glad to have him there, protecting her like a faithful mastiff.
There was an ambience about George that made her think of dark
alleys and deceitful deeds.
'That's right.
I'm in with most of the top-shelf porno magazines. They like my
work.'
'We've got a
bit of a problem here,' Will said, picking up George's empty glass.
'Maybe you can help us. Another Scotch? Hang on while I get
it.'
Julia wanted
to stop him from leaving her with the unpleasant George, but he was
already elbowing his way to the bar.
'And what do
you do, darling?' George asked, his eyes never quite meeting hers.
He always seemed to focus just beyond the person he was addressing,
as if unwilling to allow them a peep into the windows of his soul,
which she imagined to be black and wrinkled and hard as an old
prune. And Will had once been his bosom buddy? He dropped in her
estimation.
'I'm a model,'
she replied, and this wasn't entirely untrue. She had modelled for
Arlene in a fashion show once.
'Are you?
Well, you're pretty enough and have a great figure.' He slipped an
arm round the back of the seat and fastened his clammy hand on her
shoulder, his fingers moving over the flesh revealed by her
sleeveless crop-top. His predatory gaze dropped to where her
breasts filled the white jersey cloth.
'I'm rather on
the short side, even in high heels,' she said quickly, unable to
shift away from him. 'Fashion models are expected to be tall and
thin.'
'You're okay.
I like petite, curvaceous girls,' he leered, licking his thin
lips.
'Here you go,
George,' Will said, returning with the whisky, and Julia had never
been more thankful to see him.
'Cheers,'
George said, and knocked it back in one. 'Now then, you said you
wanted my help.'
'Julia's a
model, but she needs pictures for her folio.'
'No problem.
I'll do them.'
'I haven't
much money,' Julia put in, unwilling to be indebted to him.
'That's all
right. I'll get paid if any of them are used.'
'Not for porno
mags?'
'Call it art,
my dear,' he answered, running his tongue over his slack lower
lip.
'But I want
poses that will make people take me seriously as a model for
clothes,' she protested, having second thoughts about the whole
idea.
'And so they
will. I can see you doing kinky clobber. Fetish gear's all the rage
now, and you don't have to be into the scene to wear it. Leather,
PVC, chains, studs, bondage straps; you can buy them in lots of
highstreet stores, or something remarkably like them. You look
vulnerable and innocent, yet with a hint of naughtiness, too. It'll
drive the punters wild. Who are you going to apply to for a
job?'
She glanced at
Will questioningly, but he nodded and she said, 'Marty Blake.'
'Going
straight to the main man, eh? And why not? I've found models for
him before.'
'So you know
him?' Will asked cautiously.
'Of course,
old boy.' George shrugged and looked meaningfully at his empty
glass.
Will didn't
take the hint, saying, 'There you are then, Julia. When shall we
start?'
'No time like
the present,' George suggested eagerly.
'Now?' She
wasn't prepared for this.
'Yes. Have you
got your car with you, Will? I was going to get a cab back to my
place.'
Will
nodded.
'Right, let's
go then.' George stood up. 'Ready, Julia? I'm going to make you a
star,' he promised.
He took her
arm as they made their way towards the exit. There he leaned
closer, his unpleasant breath fanning her cheek as he added. 'I
expect a return. Nothing is for nothing, girl, and I have my own
method of extracting payment from lovely girls.'
Although he
wanted her to sit in the back of the car with him, she succeeded in
occupying the front seat next to Will.
'I'm still in
the same place,' he said, as Will turned the ignition key. 'Sylvan
Avenue, Wood Green. Remember? We used to have a whale of a time
there, didn't we? Once I'd got rid of the wife, that is. Silly cow
didn't approve of me drinking. We're divorced now. Good riddance to
bad rubbish, I say.'
London was
still busy but Will, who knew it like the back of his hand, took
diverse shortcuts to bringing them to George's residence, a late
Victorian terrace house in a tree lined street. His own car was on
a hard standing in his small front garden.
Iron railings
and a tiled path led to the porch and the front door, with all its
original brass fittings. Inside there was a passageway, not unlike
that of Julia's own house, then up two flights of stairs and into a
studio that stretched the entire length and width of the attic. It
smelt of cigarettes, stale booze, developing fluid and coition.
'Make
yourselves at home,' George said, taking off his jacket. 'We'll
start with a few shots as you are, love. Just to get in the mood. I
shan't be a tick.'
He busied
himself with his equipment, very professional all of a sudden, the
whisky addict banished. She put down her bag and mounted the
shallow step of the podium. George adjusted the back sheet,
reflectors and lighting. He then retreated, squinting at her
through the viewfinder.
'Now,
darling... stand proud, lean on your right hip. That's it. Look at
me. Straight at me. Big sexy eyes, think sexy thoughts, pout,
sweetie, pout those gorgeous lips as if you're about to fasten them
round a great fat cock. Lovely!'
This wasn't
too bad. Julia began to get into the swing of it, remembering
photos she'd seen of famous models, aping their brash confidence,
the way they stared arrogantly down their elegant noses, thrust out
their bosoms and arched their necks with never a crotch-shot
between them, just the blatant suggestion of promiscuity.
Soon George
had her take off her fleece and display her bare middle in the
crop-top. 'Hitch up your skirt. That's great. What legs! Now we'll
try something a little bit more daring, shall we?'
He handed her
a bundle of garments and indicated a screen. She changed behind it
and came out wearing a red leather skirt and a basque. Under his
direction, she assumed an expression of utter boredom and
indifference. She was the epitome of every man's wet dream, with
her sulky mouth, and the way her heavy-lidded eyes stared defiantly
into the camera as she straddled a damask upholstered chair. Her
breasts were pushed high by the restrictive corset. The short skirt
barely reached the tops of her wantonly spread legs, exposing the
slim expanse of her upper thighs, and a glimpse of the tempting
blonde floss at her apex. Black stockings covered her from toes to
above the knee, fastened by fancy garters. It was a pose that was
ageless: she could have been a nineteenth century whore posing for
some be-whiskered photographic pioneer who'd already realised the
commercial value of racy pictures.
She could feel
the colour running into her face as George stared through the
aperture and Will lay on the couch, smiling in an almost
proprietorial manner.
George tried
out other positions. 'Let's go with the flow,' he said. 'You're a
natural. I knew you would be the moment I clocked you.'
Julia laid on
her stomach, propped on her elbows, one leg out straight, the other
bent. It was charming, guileless even, till the eye travelled to
her naked buttocks, firm globes ripe for caning. In another she
bent to fasten her shoe, her breasts lifting even higher as she
glanced provocatively over her shoulder, her skirt riding up to
show her bottom crease and the downy hair of her pudenda.
'Now lay down,
dear,' George urged, and pointed to the cushioned-heaped settee at
the back of the podium. 'That's it. Let's see your pussy. I want
your hand down there, touching. I want your head back, your tongue
circling your lips, and your eyes half-closed as if you're going to
come at any minute.'
'I can't do
that,' she murmured, but her hands were already on her satin smooth
skin, her thighs bent outwards.
'Yes you can.
Pretend you're in your bedroom and there's no one to see. Do it
like when you can't help playing with yourself.' George's voice was
thick with excitement, his prick distorting the front of his cord
trousers. 'Come on, sweetie, do it for me,' and he waltzed round
her, snapping as he went. He ended up somewhere between her feet,
the camera aimed at her crotch.
She nibbled
her lower lip as she obeyed, not so much him as her own urges, and
combed her fingers through her pubes. She was acutely aware of the
openness of her sex and of George's third eye, the camera lens.
Juice glistened on her vulva, and the hot bright lamps ruthlessly
exposed every frill and curl of her genitals, beating down on the
sensitive cleft. And, more than this, she felt the heat on the
rabid swell of her clitoris. She touched it with a fingertip, and
pleasure fired through her.
'Make it wet,'
said George.
His gruff
words turned her on unbearably. Far from this intensely private act
being something secretive and shameful, here was someone actually
encouraging her to do it. He put down the camera and reached for a
bottle of baby oil, and before she knew what was happening he
flipped back the cap and poised it over her quim. She started at
the sudden chill as several shining drops fell directly onto her
clit. Any residue he massaged into her thighs and up and over her
mound, the pubic hair shimmering.
For an instant
his finger followed the oil and she gasped, shuddered and wanted
desperately to come. Then he withdrew and took up his camera again.
As if on cue Will knelt behind her. She felt his hands on her
breasts, teasing the erect nipples, and an even greater thrill as
he leaned across to take one in his mouth, while continuing to
finger the other.
'Oh... that's
good,' she mumbled, despite her shame.
'Back off now,
Will,' George instructed. 'I don't want you in the frame. Julia's
supposed to be doing it for herself. Come on, baby, give yourself a
brisk wank... that's great... come on, I want to see you come,' he
urged crudely as the shutter clicked.
She crooked
her middle finger and caught the underside of her clitoris, and
with every touch the waves of orgasm swept closer. She sighed and
tensed, her bottom cheeks clenching. A silence fell over the
studio; a watching, waiting silence broken only by the camera's
whirr. She had forgotten the men, the camera, the lateness of the
hour and the weird circumstances, every sense focussed on the
sensations pouring through her. One giant wave, a second and then a
third lifted her onto the rollercoaster and she screamed as her
climax thundered, screamed and writhed and offered herself
voluptuously to George and his lens.