Chapter 7

‘All set?’ Hugh asked.

Susie nodded, with a show of more confidence than she actually felt inside. Nothing to worry about, she told herself, she’d done this sort of thing enough times before. So why was the butterfly squadron at full throttle, why were the icy fingers clasping her insides with their iron grip, and why was there a warm flood soaking her knickers?

It looked normal enough from the outside, she thought, as she walked up the drive of the large detached house on the outskirts of the city, feeling her heart thundering in her chest, cold fingers of fear in her tummy and hot liquid arousal in her knickers. On the other side of the plain wooden front door was a group of men she’d never met before in her life, and within minutes she’d be lifting her skirt and opening her legs to their gaze - and what they saw they’d interpret as sheer arousal. They’d see her wet and ready and think she was just a randy little tart who couldn’t wait to get fucked... and then they’d fuck her.

‘Oh yes,’ said the man who opened the door, ‘you’ll be Caroline. Very nice to meet you, my dear. Very nice indeed...’

He was fifty-ish, smooth, well dressed, clearly a man of breeding, a man from good stock, as they say. But there was something extra in his manner; not just the air of someone used to giving orders and used to being obeyed. Perhaps it was just the faint tension about him, as he looked her up and down and perhaps wondered what she’d be like. And in her turn Susie wondered what he’d be like, wondered if he’d be the first.

He ushered her through a doorway, and she saw the group of men sitting or standing around the room. Amongst them, casually dropped on the floor, there were soft bags and aluminium boxes, spilling out the matt black paraphernalia of photography. Here and there she saw one or two tripods, erected early, waiting. Waiting for her. Waiting to discover the secrets of her voluptuous young body.

Including Hugh and the man who’d let them in, and whose house she assumed this to be since he appeared to be in charge, there were seven men in the room. As she’d expected in such a situation they weren’t young, but mostly middle-aged, with the soft paunches and red faces of those who can afford to drink often and eat well.

Except one. He was eighteen, maybe nineteen, a beautiful, tall black boy who seemed too shy to meet her eyes, and with a catch in her throat and another sudden flush of warm wetness between her legs she realised that he must be for her. Out of place as a photographer, he was obviously another model, and the rest of them, the overweight businessmen with piggy little eyes and probably piggy little pricks, they were going to take pictures of her with him. Well, at least he was young and handsome. She smiled shyly at him, but he just stared back, impassive.

‘Now,’ the host said to her, ‘I believe Hugh has explained what we do here. We’re just a bunch of enthusiasts who take pictures of various different subjects.’ There were some repressed smiles as he paused before continuing. ‘And tonight the subject is glamour, a beautiful girl... you.’ His oily charm was condescending and unpleasant, as if he was paying her some kind of compliment by wanting to look up her skirt.

She peered around at the others, hoping to find a friendly face, but even Hugh looked - no, not impassive, or even aloof - he looked cruel and unsympathetic.

He frowned at her, nodding significantly at her coat, still buttoned up, and she understood at once. She hesitated for a second, making Hugh frown and nod again, and then her fingers opened the buttons and she slipped the coat off her shoulders, and his frown of annoyance changed at once to a conceited smirk of satisfaction as there was a collective and salacious murmur of approval around the room.

To be fair he had accomplished his remit admirably, and with the diagonally striped tie knotted loosely under the collar of her white blouse, she looked beautifully fresh and demure. The dark blue skirt was pleated and a modest few inches above the knee, but the effect was devastating, and as Hugh had predicted, her face almost devoid of make-up complemented the look to perfection.

As did her genuinely shy smile.

‘Right then, picture time,’ a voice eventually broke the spell that seemed to settle over those gathered, and as she realised the host of the group was talking to her, looking at her, waiting for her to take up a pose they could photograph, and that it would be the first of many on a dubious road, so she realised what she had known all along that this was part of her job. Normally the ‘rules’ meant that she, or whoever was involved in any particular job, should make their excuses and leave at the opportune moment. In the past Susie’s complete inability to resist the demands of her body had meant she’d stayed, and ended up making excuses to the editor. On more than one occasion her own enthusiastic participation, complete with recognisable appearances in the subsequent photographs, had meant that a story had to be dropped or delayed. On any job she knew she was supposed to incite others and then leave the room before it was too late.

But this was different. This assignment required that she stay, that she not only allow herself to be seen in the pictures but that she should be the centrepiece of them. This naturally created a problem that, for the purposes of publication, could easily have been circumvented by a little judicious blurring. But that would only have worked if Hugh had been the one photographer in the room. Tonight there would be many images taken from different photographers, and there was no way they could allow them all to be circulated.

At first this had appeared to be the sort of stumbling block that could have halted the entire operation, but Hugh - of course - came up with a technical solution that had delighted the editor. He would use a set of lights with a special bulb and filter. Normal in appearance to the naked eye, they would turn all the pictures taken during the evening into a kind of green soup.

‘Yours as well, though,’ the editor pointed out.

‘No, not mine,’ Hugh countered, before explaining more. ‘Because I know the lights are dodgy I can put a filter on the camera to correct it. No one else will use the filter because they won’t know I’ve fixed the lights. So the only person with useable pictures will be me.’

The editor had beamed happily, Hugh preened himself and leered pointedly at Susie, and a knot of apprehension gripped her tummy.

Now he was leering in the same obnoxious way, and she could tell he was enjoying what he fondly imagined to be her reservations for what lay ahead.

‘Just take a seat on the Chesterfield to start with, I think,’ said the host, indicating the large leather settee against one wall, and around which everyone was now gathered in a loose semicircle.

Obediently she did so, smoothing her pleated skirt down over her black stockings with a shy smile, looking at the seven men who were hungrily staring at her.

To her left, a portly and red-faced man hid a slack mouth behind a bushy black beard. He whispered occasionally to his neighbour, a small, dapper man with equally black hair and eyebrows, and thick black lashes that gave him an effeminate appearance totally at odds with the greedy lust that blazed in his eyes as he drooled over Susie, unashamedly trying to see how far up her skirt he could look from where he hovered.

Behind him, looking over his shoulder with only mild curiosity, was the black youth, only he was glancing up at her before looking down into his hands where he was making intricate adjustments to the complicated camera in his grasp. Clearly she’d got him wrong, and he was just another snapper.

And to prove the point he leaned forward, passing the camera to the man ahead and to his right. Dead centre of the group that clustered around Susie, this man was grey-haired and pasty-faced, skin glowing with perspiration as he licked his lips in a nervous movement and squinted through thick glasses that magnified his eyes to bizarre dimensions.

Hugh stood beside him; trust Hugh to have taken up a position which gave him the best view as well as putting him next to the host. She knew it was his job, to worm his way in and gain their confidence, but she also knew he’d be there even if it hadn’t been.

‘Ready now?’ the host asked as he peered at her. Though he had no camera in his hands, and in any case bore the general air of one who left that sort of thing to others, he had nevertheless secured himself a prime position in the semicircle, since Susie sat on the settee at an angle and was turned to face him, and the man beside him, a gangly, cadaverous person of indeterminate age. Early thirties going on seventy-five, thought Susie, watching his angular frame as he strove to look casual and failed.

‘Okay then.’ The host had taken Susie’s silence after his question as a sign of acquiescence. Or perhaps he just didn’t care whether she was ready or not. He was, and that was all that mattered.

Feeling the temperature between her thighs rising as she prepared for what she knew was to come, she sat up straight, hands demurely in her lap, tilted her head down and her eyes upward, looking towards the cameras through lowered lashes. It was, as the lights around the room flashed with that strangely mechanical thump as they released their energy and then sang as they recycled, a classic pose that had become a bit of a cliché, but still amazingly effective.

‘Tuck your legs under a bit, Caroline,’ Hugh directed, ‘and give us a fraction more thigh.’

Responding to her alias, and the way Hugh used it to make sure everyone guessed she was really his wife and not just an acquaintance he’d talked into modelling for cash, she bent her legs a little more and inched her skirt higher, giving them a little more of her sheer stockings, wondering what she looked like, wondering if they too were already aroused in anticipation.

‘And head up,’ called Hugh, and she pulled her shoulders back a little, letting the fullness of her breasts press against the delicate bra and cotton blouse, stretching the white material and filling it with a lushly rounded, hard-tipped promise.

‘Oh yes,’ drooled the bearded one, obviously a breast man and obviously getting a good profile from where he stood to her left, ‘that’s lovely.’ And the flash whumped again in response to his shutter, sending a flush or sudden excitement through Susie’s panties as she knew for certain that he at least was excited.

‘Button,’ called Hugh imperiously, and she would have spat at him if they’d been alone. He got a definite kick out of ordering her to do things she didn’t want to do while she had no choice but to obey... like now. Sadly, she thought as she loosened her striped tie and unbuttoned her blouse so that it hung open to display her cleavage, she liked being made to do things almost as much as Hugh liked making her do them, and the liquid fire in her knickers was ample proof of that.

The flashes were blinding, as everyone fired off two or three shots, anxious not to miss their first glimpse of her mouth-watering breasts.

‘Open your legs a little now,’ instructed Hugh, deliberately expressing himself as provocatively as he could, trying to embarrass or shame her. Obviously he didn’t realise that Susie needed no provocation, and in fact the bluntness of his instruction, the sheer rudeness of him calling it out like that, loud and clear so everyone could hear, added an extra thrill to the spice she already felt. With all eyes on her, the centre of attention, Susie obeyed, slowly, deliberately, moving her knees apart, letting them look between her thighs, and as she felt the cool air between them she knew they were looking at the sliver of white that covered her secret places, and she felt the warm wetness in her knickers as her body tensed and her heart leapt.

The cameras were clicking and whining as the lights flashed, and Susie adjusted her pose slightly, sitting square on to the group so they each got the same sort of shot. ‘Just pull your blouse out now,’ called Hugh, and Susie reached down to tug it from the waistband of her skirt, obeying without hesitation.

‘Fine, like that,’ said the host, and she stopped, leaving just one side hanging free, a dishevelled pose that went well with her flushed face as she pouted at Hugh.

Click and flash went the cameras.

‘Bottom two buttons,’ instructed Hugh, and she undid them, letting the blouse drop away to expose her toned midriff, slowly, making them wait, the white cotton rustling seductively, feeling the tension rising in the room, feeling the tension rising in her sex as her aching body blossomed, and there was only her tie holding her blouse loosely together around her neck, and the cameras flashed several times as she sat with her knees apart, knickers clinging damply to her curves, breasts swelling inside the delicate bra, the outline of her nipples just visible, pushing outwards, two shadowy discs straining against the pure tight whiteness.

‘Pull your bra down.’

Susie could see how much Hugh was enjoying making her expose herself to the men, but she was caught up in the tension of the moment too, and although Hugh was passing orders, the power was hers. Seven men were holding their breath as she did as she was told, pulling the edge of the lacy cups down, letting one budding nipple pop into view, stiff and solid like a rosy bullet, feeling the cool air making it stiffen and grow, sending a cold tracer into the pit of her stomach.

Dozens of frames of film wound through the motor drives.

‘Touch it,’ someone directed, their voice tight, and she cupped her breast, lifting it as the flashguns zapped her.

‘Take your bra off,’ said Hugh, ‘but keep your blouse on,’ and she did the trick every schoolgirl learns behind the bike sheds, undoing her bra and pulling it off down one sleeve, dropping it aside and resuming her pose, feeling her breasts pressing into the soft coolness of the white blouse, which gaped at the front, shaped invitingly over their rounded smoothness and hanging from their erect tips.

‘Skirt up a bit,’ Hugh continued, taking charge, and obediently she squirmed a little on the settee as she pulled it higher, and the cameras started flashing as the stocking-tops came into view, dark bands against the pale softness of her thighs.

‘And more,’ said someone else, and she slowly pulled it higher, watching their jaws drop a millimetre lower for every upward, teasing movement of the hem. But eventually it bunched up around her waist, and Hugh was speaking again.

‘No, that doesn’t look right,’ he said impatiently. ‘One of you sort it out.’

Susie had hardly understood what he meant when the bearded one was there at her side, fiddling with the hem, smoothing the pleats, taking liberties, sweaty hands lingering on her thighs, pawing and mauling as he shaped her skirt back down, which she could perfectly easily have done herself, as everyone knew.

‘Much better,’ said Hugh, as the bearded one at last finished molesting her thighs. ‘Now, legs apart a bit more,’ he ordered, and she let her knees drift wider, and wider, feeling the response in her sex as the soft flesh fluttered and swelled and the moisture seeped into the white material - the blatantly visible white material, because with her skirt resting above her stocking tops and her knees parted, there was no longer any covering at all, nor even a shadow to conceal her modesty, and they were all seven staring intently between her legs as they gazed at the object of their desire, revealed by the bright lights, warm and wet and pinkly swelling inside the delicate material, wet and clinging to every curve.

‘Nice one, love,’ enthused one of them.

‘More please,’ urged another, and she let her knees move again, until they were as wide as they’d go, and the cameras flashed as their owners crouched lower and took photographs of her soaking gusset, with its pretty pink contents clearly definable.

‘Nipple,’ said Hugh, twiddling his fingers in midair, and she obeyed, tweaking the little rosebud between finger and thumb, spreading the fingers of the other hand on her thigh as if holding her legs wide apart, and the cameras flashed again.

‘Oh yes,’ mumbled the fat one, but they were all starting to glow now, faces redder, eyes bulging, upper lips beaded with sweat, like a pack at feeding time knowing a meal was imminent.

‘Pull them tight,’ said Hugh, and her body thrilled with electrical pulses. She knew exactly what he meant, and her hand reacted without her telling it to, grasping the flimsy white material of her knickers at the waist and pulling it gently upward, pulling against herself, pulling so it pressed against her, squashing against the slick pinkness, taut and revealing for the cameras to capture.

‘Lift your leg,’ said Hugh, ‘foot on the couch.’ Susie raised one foot, settling the heel on the edge of the leather seat, which revealed no more than before but pulled the white cotton tighter still, creating a taut curve of material that must have looked even more enticing, judging by the number of flashes it provoked.

‘Wait,’ said one, fumbling in his camera as he changed film, but Hugh did not want to wait - he was on a roll as well.

‘Fingers,’ he said, rubbing his crutch suggestively, and Susie released the taut material, her outstretched fingers reached lower, spreading across the front of the white V like a fan, feeling the inviting fullness that swelled inside, and the cameras flashed over and over again.

‘Harder,’ he said, the bastard, still trying to shame her and not knowing the waves of arousal his words induced as she obeyed again, feeling herself wet and squishy in the valley separating the two swollen halves, hot and slick as her finger traced a gentle line between the full curves of her open body.

So many pictures were taken so continuously she was bathed in a constant stream of bright white light.

‘Inside,’ snapped Hugh, and seemed irritated when she didn’t obey at once. ‘Fingers inside your knickers,’ he ordered again, and watched as her fingertips slid under the elastic at her waist, making irregular bumps as they pushed lower, partly visible through the flimsy white, searched lower still and found the sweet warmth and separated the puffy lips as the cameras flashed and recorded, seeing through the white material, picking out the detail as her fingers slithered across the sensitive pink wetness.

All except Hugh’s camera, that is, which was aimed at Susie’s face, the perfectly framed close-up recording the evidence of her arousal, naked and revealed.

‘Spread,’ he ordered relentlessly, flexing one hand in demonstration, and she fanned her fingers so the neat nails showed from around the edges of the material, and her knuckles made little bumps in the white which stuck wetly to the back of her hand.

‘Good,’ he breathed, nodding with satisfaction. ‘Now, hand out, and pull it taut again.’

Gathering the material in her grasp, feeling it wet and slippery as she bunched it up, Susie tugged softly and felt her body open instantly, yearning as she pulled the white knickers into a narrow band which slowly disappeared, pulled into her body, exposing the soft curves of clean-shaven pinkness either side of it for the first time, and the avaricious cameras flashed furiously, feeding off such a spellbinding vision of purity and beauty.

‘Tighter,’ said Hugh, his voice strained, and she obeyed.

They knelt around her, the semicircle slowly shuffling nearer, as if the lenses of their cameras couldn’t bring them close enough to the object of their desire, and they took picture after picture, the savage flashguns making pinpricks of diamond light dance around the soft pinkness as the warm moisture reflected their blaze.

‘Kneel,’ said the host, and she turned, kneeling on the cool leather with her bottom raised towards him, knowing the narrow white strip was still pulled tight into her body, slicing between the two firm cheeks of her bottom and deeper still, into the warm and wet furrow.

‘Get the skirt,’ commanded Hugh, and immediately he with the beard again loomed close, lifting the hem higher over her bottom, arranging the folds and pleats artistically in a manner which apparently required him to stroke the firm curves of her bottom several times, sending small tremors of need through the swollen lips and clitoris that waited hungrily for a decisive touch.

‘Perfect,’ said the host, and Susie twisted sexily to gaze back over her shoulder at the array of rapacious lenses. The flashes flashed and the cameras whirred, and Susie stroked herself, one dainty finger sliding against the slippery wetness of the stretched material between her thighs, gradually pressing harder and pushing deeper, harder and deeper, in response to the pressure as her body moved to meet the finger, asking, begging to be entered fully, and she gazed at them over her shoulder with the most innocent, dreamy expression, the naughty schoolgirl caught in the act, as her finger wriggled past the damp strip of her knickers and sank luxuriously into her body.

The soft sucking sounds betrayed how wet she was, how ready she was, grinding her hips towards the camera, letting the lenses look deep, as if their unblinking stare could penetrate the slippery pinkness alongside her finger, and the very idea started a surge of pleasure that grew, the beginnings of a climax she knew would be long and deeply pleasurable, and as her hips drew those rhythmic circles she knew that everyone in the room could feel the tension rising, and knew it wouldn’t be long before she squealed and shivered and came and came...

‘Wait,’ Hugh interrupted, and she savoured a spasm of intense anticipation as she let her finger stop moving. Here he came, she thought, her lovely black boy with the big cock.

But how wrong she could be.