The Contract
of
Shy Lynne
genre
exibitionism
Yes, I was stupid. I know. But understand: I have always just been a housewife.
Before this, I knew nothing about contracts - I only knew that Richard was continually talking about cash flow and how we needed money. It had created such a rift between us that I was desperate to help. So when I saw the advert for photographic models, I presented it to him. I expected him to indicate that I could not consider such a thing, but he was willing to accept any opportunity in the household. He even pushed me to do it urgently, and for my part, I enjoyed the thought of wearing different clothes and being a fashion model for the day.
So when I approached the agency, and they offered to pay me up front, I did not hesitate. I should have read the contract more carefully, but I took the pen, as it was offered and signed unthinkingly.
On the day of the photographic session, I approached the given address with a happy heart. The studio was not in the most salubrious part of town, but you overlook these things when excited about the prospect ahead. In truth, I had no real option: Richard had already spent the money paying some business bills. I hoped this would lead to more work - I even felt a sense of independence at finally contributing to the household.
The studio was on the second floor, up a poorly lit stairwell. The sign on the door did not indicate anything about the nature of the business within. It was also locked, and it was only after knocking more than once that a key turned in the door, and I was allowed in. The door was closed again behind me.
Perhaps I should have realised immediately, by the nature of the layout, that this would not be what I had expected. Firstly, it was quite an empty space: where I had anticipated that props would be used to create a mood, there were only a couple of chairs, a sofa, a carpet, and a full-length mirror.
Some cameras were on the table, and a boy of about 19 was arranging the lights to focus on the sofa. But, I saw no evidence of the clothing. I would be expected to wear.
After some moments, a man, who I realised was the cameraman, walked over. He said nothing at first but frankly looked me up and down.
“ What's your name then?”
It seemed an abrupt, inauspicious start, but I held my hand out in greeting. “ Hello - I'm Linda.”
“Well, you're a bit older than we normally get, I suppose, but there's always a market for a slutty older woman”. The cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down as he talked. He was not what I had expected for a fashion photographer: his hair was of a piece with this rumpled clothing and slightly grubby sneakers.
“I'm Larry, by the way.” The name seemed appropriate.
I remember being so taken aback that I lifted a hand to my throat. “ I'm sorry - I must be at the wrong place.”
He rolled his eyes. “ Not another one. Julian always does this. Did you read the contract he sent you? Do you know what you signed up for?”
“ Yes.” I had that first sense when you realise things are going awry. “ I'm here for a fashion shoot.”
“ Did you sign the contract?”
I nodded.
I realised he was enjoying my predicament. He watched me closely as he spoke: “ This is a porn studio. You signed up for some good old-fashioned dirty pictures.”
I was conscious of the blood rushing to my face and took a step backwards. By this time, the 19-year-old had concluded his efforts and had joined the conversation.
“ There has been a mistake.” I heard the wavering in my voice as I spoke and glanced at the locked door.
“ Let me explain what you committed to. If you renege on the contract, you pay an admin fee. If you have already been paid, you reimburse the funds. And if you fail to do so within one month, we sue. Very publicly. Occasionally we have had to send some... “ ( pausing to find the right word ) “… persuasive gentlemen to collect, but nobody wants it to come to that. You understand, I'm sure.”
The 19-year-old was running his eyes all over me and positively grinning. Larry continued: “The contract commits you to a 3-hour session in which you enable our artistic intentions by posing in any manner we require and with or without clothing. There are no restrictions placed on the extent of our artistic demands.”
I know I was trembling slightly, my heart pounding, my mouth dry. I needed to sit, but I didn't want to do anything that would prevent me from going out that door as quickly as possible.
“ No restrictions,” said the 19-year-old gleefully, openly staring at my breasts. I responded by folding my arms to cover myself.
“ There's been a mistake. I can't do this”.
I turned to the door, but Larry deftly moved in my way. “ I'm easygoing at the best of times, but this is my business. You walk out that door, and I will sue. And ensure that your name appears in the local newsletter, all of your neighbours aware.”
It was a silly threat. I know that now. But at that moment, it felt that events had overwhelmed me. I stood indecisively until Larry placed a hand on my elbow, led me over to the couch and gave me a glass of water.
“ Now you're going to do everything I ask. I don't bite. And honestly, I can't wait to see all of you.”
I thought of Richard, of how we desperately needed the money, how we could not possibly pay it back. In those moments, my indecision left me impassive, immobilised in shock.
19-year-old was standing as close as he could, not to miss anything. I couldn't look at either of them, crushed by my shyness and the magnitude of the moment. I could hear the camera clicking as Larry commenced.
“ Your embarrassment Is so clear in these pictures; they will be so marketable.”
I sat with my head down, hands clenched in my lap while he moved around. And then it all began: “Now open your knees and pull the hem of your skirt up so we get your panties. Mmm, higher, wider. That's it. Mmm, white mommy panties - I could have guessed. How old are you anyway?”
I still couldn't look him in the eye. “ I'm 42.”
“Mmm, middle-aged reserved housewife lets go and shows her tits and pussy to the world. My customers will love this. Pull your skirt right up now - let's see all your legs”.
I could feel the beginnings of tears behind my lids. I have never considered myself strong-willed, but I would not let him see it at that moment. I pulled the hem as high as it would go and stared brazenly into the lens.
“ That's the spirit. I like it. Now lift your knees and spread your legs as wide as possible. I want to see those panties strain against your cunt lips.”
Cunt. That word describing me. It was insanely offensive, yet Larry had used it without malice: it was just a word he used, probably in every photographic session. 19-year-old, in the interim, was as closely focused on my panties as the camera was.
“Does he have to be here? He’s half my age.”
Larry glanced at him and me. “Don’t interfere with the creative process. Now lift your knees - I want to see your cunt in those panties.”
After a moment, Larry turned to 19-year old. “Put some water on the panties. Let’s make her look wet.”
I immediately closed my legs and sat forward. “What do you mean? He’s not touching me.”
19-year-old paused, glancing at Larry.
“You’ll fucking do as I say. I want to see soaking panties against your cunt. And I don’t care if you’re ashamed. Your cunt, right now, has been sold to me. Now lift your fucking knees and spread your legs and let me do my job!”
He was frightening. At that moment, in this locked room these two men, I relinquished whatever semblance of control I may have had. Trembling slightly, I leaned back, eyes closed until cold water was dribbled between my legs, and I felt the panties sticking to me. And then, incredibly, 19-year-old using his hand to spread it, clearly enjoying touching my lips through the fabric, the boy savouring the sexual humiliation of the older woman. No man but Richard had touched me in over 20 years - as ashamed as I was, the moment was maddeningly erotic. Perhaps because of the uncomfortable situation, my legs trembled slightly, while he used one finger to press my panties into my slit, outlining my lips, pressing against my clit.
I may have moaned slightly as Larry spoke to 19-year-old: “Look at that. She’s enjoying it. I think she is a bit of a slut at heart. Ten minutes to change from housewife to tart.”
My own body was being treacherous; but after years of indifferent passion from Richard I had been thrust into this explicit, overtly sexual situation, forced to expose myself to two men, and the unskilled touch of one not yet in his twenties on my private lips. It was true: my eyes were closed against my humiliation but my hips pressed up against his hand in unconscious response.
Larry continued to capture it, changing angles. “Hold the crotch of her panties to one side. Let's see her bare cunt.
I know that I moaned, both at the shame and the thrill of the words, and then 19-year brushing fingers against my spread nakedness and the sudden cold air against me as my panties were pulled aside.
“ That's not just the water. That's your own wet.”
“ How do you expect me to react when I am being touched?”
“Just keep doing what you are doing now.” Then to 19-years: “ Pull her panties off.” The indignity of the boy jerking the material from under me then lifting my feet as he discarded the underwear.
“ Keep spreading. 42 and you still wax. Does your husband appreciate such a pretty cunny?”
“ He's not part of this.”
“ Not yet. But next time you strip for him you'll remember this, won't you? You'll think about how you displayed yourself to me and it will excite you.
“ Stand up, take off your skirt, turn around and bend over.”
I followed his instructions mechanically now, finding some small solace in facing away from the camera. “ Legs open wide. Arch your back. More.” The infernal clicking as he moved around to different angles. “Good. Now reach behind and pull your ass cheeks open.”
“No!” I recall how the blood rushed to my cheeks at that point. “That’s humiliating!”
“You do it or we will.” The thought of 19-years holding me open was more than I could tolerate: closing my eyes I reached back obediently. “Good girl. Open legs a bit more. Arch your back.”
After long moments, to 19-years: “I want total submission in these pictures. Finger her.”
I tried to stand, gasping, but 19-years was already alongside me, hand on my back, pushing me down. “Keep holding your ass open!” And then the prolonged indignity of the boy circling my anus with a, finger, pressing against it, my breaths coming in short gasps as Larry kept capturing it all. I tried to keep my face turned away as he moved around, but he demanded that I look into the lens; he wanted that expression as I was violated, as a finger was now pushed into me.
The boy slipped his other hand between my legs, between my lips, thumb sliding into me, finger circling, pushing against my clitoris. There was silence now, except for the sound of the camera, Larry’s footsteps as a he changed position and me gently moaning at this glorious, erotic invasion. As shameful as it was, my submission at that moment was absolute, lost, all thoughts focused on those fingers owning me. 19-years pressed against me, slowly moving his hardness, still in his trousers against my leg in this strange, shared intimacy.
Can I say that this hateful exploitation was amongst the most erotic moments of my life? I must. How else can I explain that I didn't hear Larry put his camera down, didn't notice that he had stopped taking pictures, had walked around the chair and was standing in front of me until his steel hard manhood touched my cheek.
“ It's seldom that a model does this to me. Why did you have to be such a prudish slut?” He put his hand in my hair. “Kiss it Linda.” I was beyond redemption, putting my hands on his hips, looking up as I took him in my mouth, realising that 19-years was no longer fingering me but had positioned himself between my legs and was sliding a young erect cock deeply into me.
Perhaps I am a slut at heart. We all hide parts of ourselves: I only know that I took those men into me, that they used me as a toy, repeatedly penetrating my mouth, my cunt, eventually even my bottom. That afternoon of lust released me.
At times Larry and 19-years would turn their cameras on me. Pictures of me sucking cocks on my knees, kissing a seated Larry as I faced him on his lap, lowering myself onto him, my face lost in sublime ecstasy as 19-years ran his tongue, like a blade across my visible clitoris. Me bent over, nervous as Larry entered my virgin bottom for the first time, discovering the thrill of submission.
It was strange afterwards. I was drained, lying on the sofa while the two men started tidying up the room. 19-years would smile as he looked at me, but Larry was once again all business. He took some pictures of me prostrate on the chair, recovering. Once he said: “Well I got my money’s worth didn't I?” Curiously, that left me feeling ashamed. Whatever intimacy had existed moments before evaporated. I dressed, brushed my hair in the mirror, adjusted make-up and left.
The journey home was filled with spiralling emotions - wonder at what I had experienced, twinges of lust remembering moments, abject fear at where the photographs would be used. I never lost those mixed feelings - to this day I reflect on what I learned about myself.
I never told Richard, of course. I know enough to understand it would change things between us irrevocably. Besides - if I had, he would never have asked if I could do it again. Would he?
Before this, I knew nothing about contracts - I only knew that Richard was continually talking about cash flow and how we needed money. It had created such a rift between us that I was desperate to help. So when I saw the advert for photographic models, I presented it to him. I expected him to indicate that I could not consider such a thing, but he was willing to accept any opportunity in the household. He even pushed me to do it urgently, and for my part, I enjoyed the thought of wearing different clothes and being a fashion model for the day.
So when I approached the agency, and they offered to pay me up front, I did not hesitate. I should have read the contract more carefully, but I took the pen, as it was offered and signed unthinkingly.
On the day of the photographic session, I approached the given address with a happy heart. The studio was not in the most salubrious part of town, but you overlook these things when excited about the prospect ahead. In truth, I had no real option: Richard had already spent the money paying some business bills. I hoped this would lead to more work - I even felt a sense of independence at finally contributing to the household.
The studio was on the second floor, up a poorly lit stairwell. The sign on the door did not indicate anything about the nature of the business within. It was also locked, and it was only after knocking more than once that a key turned in the door, and I was allowed in. The door was closed again behind me.
Perhaps I should have realised immediately, by the nature of the layout, that this would not be what I had expected. Firstly, it was quite an empty space: where I had anticipated that props would be used to create a mood, there were only a couple of chairs, a sofa, a carpet, and a full-length mirror.
Some cameras were on the table, and a boy of about 19 was arranging the lights to focus on the sofa. But, I saw no evidence of the clothing. I would be expected to wear.
After some moments, a man, who I realised was the cameraman, walked over. He said nothing at first but frankly looked me up and down.
“ What's your name then?”
It seemed an abrupt, inauspicious start, but I held my hand out in greeting. “ Hello - I'm Linda.”
“Well, you're a bit older than we normally get, I suppose, but there's always a market for a slutty older woman”. The cigarette in his mouth bobbed up and down as he talked. He was not what I had expected for a fashion photographer: his hair was of a piece with this rumpled clothing and slightly grubby sneakers.
“I'm Larry, by the way.” The name seemed appropriate.
I remember being so taken aback that I lifted a hand to my throat. “ I'm sorry - I must be at the wrong place.”
He rolled his eyes. “ Not another one. Julian always does this. Did you read the contract he sent you? Do you know what you signed up for?”
“ Yes.” I had that first sense when you realise things are going awry. “ I'm here for a fashion shoot.”
“ Did you sign the contract?”
I nodded.
I realised he was enjoying my predicament. He watched me closely as he spoke: “ This is a porn studio. You signed up for some good old-fashioned dirty pictures.”
I was conscious of the blood rushing to my face and took a step backwards. By this time, the 19-year-old had concluded his efforts and had joined the conversation.
“ There has been a mistake.” I heard the wavering in my voice as I spoke and glanced at the locked door.
“ Let me explain what you committed to. If you renege on the contract, you pay an admin fee. If you have already been paid, you reimburse the funds. And if you fail to do so within one month, we sue. Very publicly. Occasionally we have had to send some... “ ( pausing to find the right word ) “… persuasive gentlemen to collect, but nobody wants it to come to that. You understand, I'm sure.”
The 19-year-old was running his eyes all over me and positively grinning. Larry continued: “The contract commits you to a 3-hour session in which you enable our artistic intentions by posing in any manner we require and with or without clothing. There are no restrictions placed on the extent of our artistic demands.”
I know I was trembling slightly, my heart pounding, my mouth dry. I needed to sit, but I didn't want to do anything that would prevent me from going out that door as quickly as possible.
“ No restrictions,” said the 19-year-old gleefully, openly staring at my breasts. I responded by folding my arms to cover myself.
“ There's been a mistake. I can't do this”.
I turned to the door, but Larry deftly moved in my way. “ I'm easygoing at the best of times, but this is my business. You walk out that door, and I will sue. And ensure that your name appears in the local newsletter, all of your neighbours aware.”
It was a silly threat. I know that now. But at that moment, it felt that events had overwhelmed me. I stood indecisively until Larry placed a hand on my elbow, led me over to the couch and gave me a glass of water.
“ Now you're going to do everything I ask. I don't bite. And honestly, I can't wait to see all of you.”
I thought of Richard, of how we desperately needed the money, how we could not possibly pay it back. In those moments, my indecision left me impassive, immobilised in shock.
19-year-old was standing as close as he could, not to miss anything. I couldn't look at either of them, crushed by my shyness and the magnitude of the moment. I could hear the camera clicking as Larry commenced.
“ Your embarrassment Is so clear in these pictures; they will be so marketable.”
I sat with my head down, hands clenched in my lap while he moved around. And then it all began: “Now open your knees and pull the hem of your skirt up so we get your panties. Mmm, higher, wider. That's it. Mmm, white mommy panties - I could have guessed. How old are you anyway?”
I still couldn't look him in the eye. “ I'm 42.”
“Mmm, middle-aged reserved housewife lets go and shows her tits and pussy to the world. My customers will love this. Pull your skirt right up now - let's see all your legs”.
I could feel the beginnings of tears behind my lids. I have never considered myself strong-willed, but I would not let him see it at that moment. I pulled the hem as high as it would go and stared brazenly into the lens.
“ That's the spirit. I like it. Now lift your knees and spread your legs as wide as possible. I want to see those panties strain against your cunt lips.”
Cunt. That word describing me. It was insanely offensive, yet Larry had used it without malice: it was just a word he used, probably in every photographic session. 19-year-old, in the interim, was as closely focused on my panties as the camera was.
“Does he have to be here? He’s half my age.”
Larry glanced at him and me. “Don’t interfere with the creative process. Now lift your knees - I want to see your cunt in those panties.”
After a moment, Larry turned to 19-year old. “Put some water on the panties. Let’s make her look wet.”
I immediately closed my legs and sat forward. “What do you mean? He’s not touching me.”
19-year-old paused, glancing at Larry.
“You’ll fucking do as I say. I want to see soaking panties against your cunt. And I don’t care if you’re ashamed. Your cunt, right now, has been sold to me. Now lift your fucking knees and spread your legs and let me do my job!”
He was frightening. At that moment, in this locked room these two men, I relinquished whatever semblance of control I may have had. Trembling slightly, I leaned back, eyes closed until cold water was dribbled between my legs, and I felt the panties sticking to me. And then, incredibly, 19-year-old using his hand to spread it, clearly enjoying touching my lips through the fabric, the boy savouring the sexual humiliation of the older woman. No man but Richard had touched me in over 20 years - as ashamed as I was, the moment was maddeningly erotic. Perhaps because of the uncomfortable situation, my legs trembled slightly, while he used one finger to press my panties into my slit, outlining my lips, pressing against my clit.
I may have moaned slightly as Larry spoke to 19-year-old: “Look at that. She’s enjoying it. I think she is a bit of a slut at heart. Ten minutes to change from housewife to tart.”
My own body was being treacherous; but after years of indifferent passion from Richard I had been thrust into this explicit, overtly sexual situation, forced to expose myself to two men, and the unskilled touch of one not yet in his twenties on my private lips. It was true: my eyes were closed against my humiliation but my hips pressed up against his hand in unconscious response.
Larry continued to capture it, changing angles. “Hold the crotch of her panties to one side. Let's see her bare cunt.
I know that I moaned, both at the shame and the thrill of the words, and then 19-year brushing fingers against my spread nakedness and the sudden cold air against me as my panties were pulled aside.
“ That's not just the water. That's your own wet.”
“ How do you expect me to react when I am being touched?”
“Just keep doing what you are doing now.” Then to 19-years: “ Pull her panties off.” The indignity of the boy jerking the material from under me then lifting my feet as he discarded the underwear.
“ Keep spreading. 42 and you still wax. Does your husband appreciate such a pretty cunny?”
“ He's not part of this.”
“ Not yet. But next time you strip for him you'll remember this, won't you? You'll think about how you displayed yourself to me and it will excite you.
“ Stand up, take off your skirt, turn around and bend over.”
I followed his instructions mechanically now, finding some small solace in facing away from the camera. “ Legs open wide. Arch your back. More.” The infernal clicking as he moved around to different angles. “Good. Now reach behind and pull your ass cheeks open.”
“No!” I recall how the blood rushed to my cheeks at that point. “That’s humiliating!”
“You do it or we will.” The thought of 19-years holding me open was more than I could tolerate: closing my eyes I reached back obediently. “Good girl. Open legs a bit more. Arch your back.”
After long moments, to 19-years: “I want total submission in these pictures. Finger her.”
I tried to stand, gasping, but 19-years was already alongside me, hand on my back, pushing me down. “Keep holding your ass open!” And then the prolonged indignity of the boy circling my anus with a, finger, pressing against it, my breaths coming in short gasps as Larry kept capturing it all. I tried to keep my face turned away as he moved around, but he demanded that I look into the lens; he wanted that expression as I was violated, as a finger was now pushed into me.
The boy slipped his other hand between my legs, between my lips, thumb sliding into me, finger circling, pushing against my clitoris. There was silence now, except for the sound of the camera, Larry’s footsteps as a he changed position and me gently moaning at this glorious, erotic invasion. As shameful as it was, my submission at that moment was absolute, lost, all thoughts focused on those fingers owning me. 19-years pressed against me, slowly moving his hardness, still in his trousers against my leg in this strange, shared intimacy.
Can I say that this hateful exploitation was amongst the most erotic moments of my life? I must. How else can I explain that I didn't hear Larry put his camera down, didn't notice that he had stopped taking pictures, had walked around the chair and was standing in front of me until his steel hard manhood touched my cheek.
“ It's seldom that a model does this to me. Why did you have to be such a prudish slut?” He put his hand in my hair. “Kiss it Linda.” I was beyond redemption, putting my hands on his hips, looking up as I took him in my mouth, realising that 19-years was no longer fingering me but had positioned himself between my legs and was sliding a young erect cock deeply into me.
Perhaps I am a slut at heart. We all hide parts of ourselves: I only know that I took those men into me, that they used me as a toy, repeatedly penetrating my mouth, my cunt, eventually even my bottom. That afternoon of lust released me.
At times Larry and 19-years would turn their cameras on me. Pictures of me sucking cocks on my knees, kissing a seated Larry as I faced him on his lap, lowering myself onto him, my face lost in sublime ecstasy as 19-years ran his tongue, like a blade across my visible clitoris. Me bent over, nervous as Larry entered my virgin bottom for the first time, discovering the thrill of submission.
It was strange afterwards. I was drained, lying on the sofa while the two men started tidying up the room. 19-years would smile as he looked at me, but Larry was once again all business. He took some pictures of me prostrate on the chair, recovering. Once he said: “Well I got my money’s worth didn't I?” Curiously, that left me feeling ashamed. Whatever intimacy had existed moments before evaporated. I dressed, brushed my hair in the mirror, adjusted make-up and left.
The journey home was filled with spiralling emotions - wonder at what I had experienced, twinges of lust remembering moments, abject fear at where the photographs would be used. I never lost those mixed feelings - to this day I reflect on what I learned about myself.
I never told Richard, of course. I know enough to understand it would change things between us irrevocably. Besides - if I had, he would never have asked if I could do it again. Would he?
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