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Meagan was humiliated and excited at the same time. Excited because she was on her way to her very first modelling session, but humiliated because the manila folder she was clutching against her large tits on the city bus – labelled “Modelling Portfolio” – was filled with giant glossy laminated photos of her in a men’s toilet, cupping her naked rape-balloons and spreading her sluthole (sophisticated models didn’t say “breasts” or “pussy”, she had been told), along with a particularly embarrassing series which documented her father’s friend Clyde fucking her mouth with his cock before cumming on her face.

The portfolio was closed. No one could see the photos. But Meagan was terrified she would drop it and spill the photos everywhere, and in any case she felt like everyone could sense the slutty material she was carrying and was judging her as a whore anyway. In every stranger’s glance she felt the certainty that they somehow knew what she had posed for, and whose cock she had sucked.

John had had the prints couriered to her, two days after the meeting at the cafe. He had phoned her to say they were coming. “I told the courier you were a model,” he had said to Meagan, “and he wants to see a model’s tits. Make sure your slutbags are bare when you open the door to him, okay?”

“But.. why…” she had begun, not knowing what baring her tits to a courier had to do with modelling.

“If you’re going to be difficult, we can just call this off,” said John, irritably. “I’ll see who might be willing to pay for the photos you already have, and you can go back to being some random cheerleader instead of a celebrity model.”

“No!” she had practically squeaked. She felt sorry she was so stupid, and didn’t understand the sophisticated world of modelling, and was desperate that John not give up on her.  

“Good girl,” John had said. “Remember, be showing your tits when you open the door.”

The rest of the day had been hell. Every time she had heard a noise at the front door, she had scrambled to get there before her father – the thought of her father receiving those photos made her go pale with fright – and desperately pulled up her shirt to expose her whore-handles before answering the door.

The first two times had been false alarms, and she had blushed to discover she was flashing first a pair of Jehovah’s Witnesses, and then her cheerleading friend Sarah who was dropping off the routines to practice for next week. But on the third try it was the courier, who leered at her humiliatingly as he passed her the package full of her pornographic selfies.

Now, she was dressed in her cheerleading outfit, getting off the bus at the apartment complex John had directed her to. She pressed the button for his unit, and was let in.

“Meagan!” said John expansively, welcoming her in. He took the portfolio from her and spread the contents on the table. Meagan winced as she looked at the slutty pictures.

“These look amazing,” John said. “I showed these to a client, and they think you’re absolutely perfect for their new edgy lingerie line. We’re going to do a shoot for it today!”

“Really?” asked Meagan, excited. A real modelling shot already! She was finally on her way to success!

“Absolutely,” said John. “They said you were just the girl for the campaign. Now, why don’t you get undressed?”

“What am I wearing?” asked Meagan.

“Just get undressed first,” said John.

Meagan looked around and blushed. There were a series of photography lights and shades and tripods set up around a sumptuous looking bed in the centre of the apartment. It suggested a romantic tone to the photo shoot. She wished she were doing something easier for her first shoot – jumpers, or scarves, or something – but she supposed she was lucky to be offered a lingerie shoot. And she shouldn’t be embarrassed getting undressed in front of John – models had to change clothes all the time.

Blushing, she pulled off her cheerleading top and skirt, and then uncinched her bra to bare her large fuckmelons, and wiggled her panties down her legs to reveal her ass and whore-tunnel. She felt vulnerable, nude, in this strange place, and tucked her blonde hair behind her ears nervously as she waited for John’ next instruction.

“Okay,” he said, looking her over. “Now, the bra takes some work.” He picked up a length of long pink rope.

“Where’s the bra?” she asked.

“This is the bra,” he said, irritated. “This is high fashion, Meagan, try and keep up.”

He walked around her, running the rope across her upper body into a kind of harness, under and over her fuckbags, across her back, and then – surprisingly – around her wrists, tying her hands behind her back. She squeaked when she realised she could no longer move her arms at all – and then squeaked much louder as he completed tight, painful loops around the base of each of her tits, constricting the blood flow and making her fuckbags bulge obscenely.

“Ow!” she complained.

“Fashion is pain, Meagan,” said John, as he tied off the last knot, finishing the harness. “Women have been stuffing themselves into corsets that constrict their breathing and shoes that maim their feet for centuries, all to get men’s attention. This is just the next stage. You should feel lucky to be so avant-garde.”

She bit her lip doubtfully – and then saw what John was picking up now, and her eyes widened in horror. She tried to pack away, but only ended up falling backwards onto the bed.

“Don’t be such a baby,” said John, and then placed the evil black bulldog clips exactly where he had been intending – one on each of Meagan’s nipples.

Meagan screamed and tried to get the evil things off – but then stopped immediately because rubbing her tits against the bed or bouncing them around only made them hurt a million times worse. She looked at John, tears in her eyes.

“Please,” she begged. “Please take them off.”

“They’re part of the bra we’re shooting, Meagan,” he said. “They need to stay on. But I can give you something to take your mind off them?”

“Yes!” she begged. “Please!”

She wished she hadn’t. The third bulldog clip, which he clamped onto her tender clitoris, certainly took her mind off the ones on her nipples, but didn’t make her any happier. John watched as she squealed and writhed and wept, until she realised that no help was coming, calmed down, and learned to accept the excruciating pain in her sensitive areas.

“Good slut,” he told her.

“Can I have some panties at least?” she asked.

“No, we’re only shooting your udders,” John replied, “so it’s okay, you can leave your bitch-hole naked.”

And with that, they began the photo shoot. John would have Meagan move into different poses – lying on her back, or face down ass up on the bed, or standing, or leaning against a wall, and he would photograph her, as she blushed and tried to ignore the pain in her nipples and clit.

But they ran into troubles quickly. “Stop that,” said John.

“What?” asked Meagan.

“Cockteasing me,” he said. “The way you’re keeping your legs together like that. I get turned on by shy girls. You’re supposed to be a model, not a succubus.”

“I’m sorry,” said Meagan, and spread her legs slightly.

But it wasn’t enough. In the next pose, John said, “I said to stop cockteasing me, you bitch.”

“I’m sorry!” wailed Meagan, and spread her legs wider, giving him a full view of her twat.

“Not just that,” said John. “You’re dry. Nude girls in sexual poses without arousal just drives me wild. It’s the contrast. You need to stop teasing my cock, Meagan.”

She whimpered, and tried her best to think erotic thoughts and get wet. By two poses later, her fuck-honey was literally dripping from her snatch and she was leaving wet patches on the bed sheets. She kept her legs wide open to give John a good view of it. All the arousal was doing weird things to her perception of pain in her slutbags and rapehole, making it feel…. oddly good. And it was hard to think straight when she was horny.

But suddenly she realised that John’ camera was focused not on her bound tits, but on her slutty wet groin, and instinctively she snapped her legs shut. “I thought you weren’t taking photos of my fucktunnel!” she complained.

But John was incensed. “That does it,” he said. “If you’re going to cocktease me all day like a little whore, you deserve the consequences.” He strode towards her, pulling his cock out of his pants as he did, grabbed a handful of her left tit, and used it to pull her towards him on the bed. She wailed as he felt his hard, hot cock slide easily between her over-lubricated pussy lips, penetrating her deeply. He grabbed her other fuckbag in his other hand, and used his grip to manhandle her whole body, banging her again and again against his groin, driving his cock deeper and deeper into her. Each impact slammed the clamp on her clitoris agonisingly. 

Meagan was lost. She knew she deserved this for being a cocktease. Models didn’t usually cocktease their photographers, she assumed. She was a special kind of whore. It was only right that she suffer the consequences of that. But she was being raped! And it hurt so much and it was so degrading! But… it felt good. And it felt good how *helpless* she was, that there was absolutely nothing that she could do….

She orgasmed, loudly – and then orgasmed again – and then a moment later she felt John shiver, and begin spurting hot cum deep into her unprotected pussy. 

When he was done, he stayed inside her for a moment, then pulled out, and moved his cock to her face. “Clean it,” he told her, and she did, sucking her juices and his cum off his cock using her mouth. She felt his cum begin to leak from her pussy, but only for a moment, because when his cock was clean, he reached between her legs, scooped up a handful of cum, and then started smearing it over her face.

“Stop!” she protested.

“Shut up, whore,” he told her. “This will look good.” He scooped a second load of cum, and dribbled it over her tits. A third load was wiped through her hair.

Then they repeated all the poses, Meagan now looking like a rape victim – which she was, technically – drenched in cum and clearly good for nothing but fucking. 

When it was done, John sent her home.

“The photos from today will come to your house two days from now. I want you to be bare-cunted and masturbating when you answer the door, with one of these clamps on your clitoris. And you’re clearly going to need to practice both pain and arousal if you’re going to be a model. I don’t want you to let yourself get dry even once in the next week – do whatever it takes to keep aroused. And you’re going to put these clamps on your nipples and clit every morning when you wake up, take them off for an hour at lunchtime, and then put them back on until you’re ready to go to bed. Every day. Do you understand?”

Meagan couldn’t think straight. She felt degraded, dirty, and stupid. She was glad John was making the decisions for her. She was glad he still wanted to let her be a model. She just nodded. 

Being a model took hard work and sacrifice, she knew, and she intended to be a very *good* model.


The complete Meagan’s Modelling Career saga is collected in my e-book She’s Got The Look – Stories of Exploited Models and Erotic Fashion, available from my creator site for only $3.99 USD! Your purchase shows your appreciation and supports the creation of new, free erotica. (Click here to view in store.)


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