two

Tracy Goldman stared up into the sharp rays of the spotlight. White light, but not white hot. Reminded her of a doctor’s light. She heard the soft click-whir of the old camera she’d seen one of the hooded ones carrying around. A … Polaroid, he’d called it? Some sort of bullshit, old-school instant camera. She worked up a smile as she spread her legs wider. Rubbed herself, writhing a bit like she’d been taught by an old boyfriend during her last year in high school. Her new friends had just nodded when she’d told them about how she was going to work this scene. She was on top of it, she’d told them. A part of her had to wonder though: were they really your friends if this was the sort of stuff they thought was fun? Fun they seemed to almost push you toward? And then actually wanted a cut of your pay, saying it was a “finder’s fee.” That didn’t really define friend, not in her mind.

But the pay was great. And at least it was from her work. Not her fucking dad’s money. Money that was like a leash, used only to keep her tethered at the kennel.

At first she’d hesitated when her friends told her about this awesome opportunity to make some real dough. Just photos, they said. No fucking or anything like that. She’d thought they’d be photos in some bullshit motel room, but it hadn’t turned out to be that. It’d started at a hotel, sure. A super nice one with a huge pool, and one of those refrigerators in the room that had tons of booze inside. Wifi throughout the place, and every cable channel you could imagine. The men she’d met had taken one look at her and smiled. Told her they wanted to do some really nice photos, they told her. The place they’d decided to take her was nearby too. Within walking distance of the hotel, they assured her. A real shooting studio, all set up for shooting beautiful, young women. She hadn’t wanted to do it, at first. Leaving the hotel felt like leaving the shore behind as you went out to sea. But man … there was so much money flashing around! They handed her a roll of twenties, told her it was only an eight-hour day, if that. They just wanted photos of her. No guys. The man who paid for the photos didn’t want to see any dick. Only pussy. Hot, young pussy … spread wide. She could do that, right? Spread her pussy wide?

Of course she could, she told them. Fuck it, these guys had money. Why not milk it? She’d told Jinky where she was. Jinky had her cell number, and she had Jinky’s. It was all good.

It would be a lot of money just for a little posing in the nude. Just like Hollywood, she figured, or anything you see on TV. It beat going to college, or being prepped for some job she’d only get because her father was important enough. And she knew she’d hate whatever job it would turn out to be, anyway. She’d rather be here, making money on her own, turning some fucker on with photos of her body.

One of the hooded guys stopped shooting with the camera. Went over to an old leather suitcase. And yeah … she thought the whole hood-wearing thing was fucking weird, but maybe they were bigwigs somewhere, right?

The studio had, as they’d told her, been nearby. And to top it off, they’d taken her there in a black limo. Had given her a drink. A vodka tonic, just like she’d asked for. The building looked from the outside just like any other small business office at night: five stories, no lights on. The limo drove down a ramp to the underground garage and parked near the elevator. They all got out and when the elevator came, they got in, one of the men standing so that she couldn’t see what floor number was punched. It felt like they went to the fourth floor, but she couldn’t be sure. The elevator stopped then, and the doors slid open with a hiss. As she stepped out into the large open space, she figured these guys must have a lot of money. It looked like a real movie studio. There were two sets: one was a posh bedroom, the other some sort of dungeon setup. Weird. One of the men moved her to the bed and indicated for her to undress. She did and then lay on the bed. That’s when the filming began.

After awhile, the man with the camera mumbled something to one of the other men. That man brought over a suitcase and opened it. His hand came out with a large, flesh-colored dildo. She watched silently as he came over to her and held it out. There’d been very little talking the entire time of the shoot.

She tried to work up a smile. “Hey, um … this wasn’t talked about.”

A shrug, then this man reached into his pocket and pulled out some more money. Threw it on the bed. Another thousand, it looked like. That blew her mind. It was just like a movie. She could feel the tension in the room … like they were waiting for her to make the first move, then the rest would fall into place.

She took the dildo. Figured that since it was a show, why not go all the way? She smiled as she took it. Spit on it, rubbing her saliva all over the head and shaft. Spit on it again. Wiped again. She could feel the tension fill the room to breaking point. She was turning them all on. She knew it. And she liked it. She heard the click-whir of the camera.

She lay back and spread herself wide as she rubbed the tip of the fake dick against her clit …