Khloe was desperate to be successful as a fashion model, and like many such girls, she was disastrously naïve.
When the rich, handsome modelling agent offered her a contract to model for the Sea Cow swimwear line, she signed without thinking. She didn’t draw a connection between the company’s last catalogue, full of big-titted sluts in lewd bathing suits, and the work that *she* might be doing. She didn’t stop to think about why the agent said her recently-expanded plastic tits were “just what he was looking for”. And she certainly didn’t see anything to be worried about in the slogan for this year’s Sea Cow catalogue – “A Lifestyle, Not a Swimsuit”.
By the time she was on-site at the beach for the fashion shoot, it was too late.
“Shouldn’t I be… wearing… the clothes?” she asked nervously, her arms crossed beneath her exposed tits, doing her best to obey the photographer’s instruction to keep her legs parted so that her naked cunt would be visible to the camera.
“No!” laughed the photographer. “That’s the slogan – ‘It’s a Lifestyle, Not a Swimsuit’. Women will buy the clothes to emulate you. They want to be a pretty, slutty, fake-titted barbie bimbo like you, and they’ll pay money to not wear the same clothes that you’re not wearing.”
“But I feel vulnerable and embarrassed like this!” she protested.
“Exactly,” said the photographer. “Vulnerable and embarrassed *is* the lifestyle. We want to use advertising to convince women that the feeling that you’re a piece of fuckmeat on display, who might be raped at any moment, is desirable and exciting.”
“But…” she protested again.
“We’re going to try out a bunch of slogans on these photos and see which ones get a good response from our focus groups,” said the photographer. “We’ll try ‘She’s looking forward to rape’, and ‘Inseminate a Sea Cow today’, and ‘The only thing she’s good for is the only thing men want’.” He took a couple of photos of her naked body. “I bet you’ll be proud, won’t you, sweetie? To have these photos of your naked body all over billboards and the internet, with one of those advertising slogans attached!”
“No…” she objected, weakly, but the photographer didn’t listen.
“Spread your pussy lips with your fingers and masturbate a little for me, sugar,” he told her. “Your cunt needs to be wetter, and I think it’ll be good to get a couple of you fingerfucking yourself like a slut.”
She whimpered – but did as she was told, slowly parting her cunt lips and sliding a finger back and forth over her clitoris.
“Good girl,” smiled the photographer. “And when we’re done with this, I’ll get my assistant to rape you, and we’ll photograph that, too. Get nice and wet, because we’re going to need you to look like being raped makes you so happy that you’re going to immediately go out and buy more Sea Cow swimwear….”
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