2 comments/ 81134 views/ 16 favorites Innocent Ilsa: Portfolio Ch. 01 By: LukeCoolhand Ilsa was nervous, and understandably so. This was her first job after landing in London three weeks ago, and despite her initial reservations, the idea of becoming a model did appeal to her. After all, she had the example of Nataly from her village, who came back bearing all sorts of gifts for family and friends just a few months ago. It was Nataly's visit that made Ilsa reconsider her goals in life. After all, work in small Russian villages like the one she lived in was hard to come by. At the time, Ilsa was simply a shop girl in the town's only grocery store, a position she had gotten not least because the lecherous old grocer had had designs on her. She had known it the moment he had offered the job to her, and confirmed it on her first day when he slipped his hand under her skirt and felt for her panties, before promising to buy her nice lace ones if she "did it" with him. Of course, Ilsa was having none of that -- at 1.8m tall, with long, honey-blond hair and eyes the brilliant blue of a summer's day, Ilsa had received more than her fair share of attention from the males. . It did not stop her employer from trying, though, which he did with annoying regularity, sometimes within eyesight of his fat, ugly old wife. In fact, some of her friends, guys and girls, had told her that her legs seemed to "go on forever" and encouraged her to consider modeling, but she had refused because she was a good Russian girl who didn't do that sort of thing The idea did appeal to her a little, truth be told, but the idea of parading around half-naked in front of total strangers was somewhat abhorrent to her. Besides, there was no way she would be pretty or slim enough to be a model, she had thought -- her breasts were too big at size D, and her ass... well, she thought it was her worst feature because it was too big. All the models she saw on the old television in her apartment were much more slender, with thinner legs and much smaller butts than hers. She would simply look like a monster with her 36-24-35 figure next to them. Nataly's return to the little burg that was her village changed her thinking on that. Nataly was roughly the same size as Ilsa was... they were schoolmates and she remembered countless occasions when they shared their wardrobes with each other because each had wanted a greater variety of clothing for going out than their finances actually allowed them. In fact, Nataly's ass was bigger than hers, so when she returned with stories of success in modeling, Ilsa was naturally intrigued. Of course, that she showed up with such luxuriant clothes and jewelry also encouraged Ilsa. If Nataly could make it as a model, so could she, Ilsa reasoned. After all, Ilsa was by far the more popular girl in school -- she had had to reject many more clumsy advances from the boys (and a number of the men) than Nataly had ever had. While she had pondered her future, she had also thought over the other, less-savoury rumours making their rounds in the village about the source of Nataly's riches. Some said that she had managed to find a rich old man who doted on her; others insisted that Nataly had become a porn star and prostitute, and regularly sold her services to the highest bidder at nightclubs. She didn't believe her schoolmate would even consider such a thing -- Nataly had been a real prude when she was schooling with Ilsa -- so she didn't put much store in such rumours. Still, it was disturbing, to say the least, that the same villagers who were receiving Nataly's gifts with such enthusiasm were saying such things about her. She had made up her mind when her employer escalated his crude attempts at bedding her the very same week that Nataly returned. She had been on the stepladder in the storeroom, looking for a carton of canned food that her boss had asked for, when he sneaked in behind her and put his hands up her short skirt. It had irritated her that he had insisted on her wearing the outfit, but Ilsa felt she had had little choice. The salary he was paying her was a mere pittance, and although the uniform was so obscenely short it barely covered her behind, it at least meant she did not have to worry about what to wear for work everyday. Of course, the length of the skirt made her work difficult -- on her first day, she was asked to reach for items placed at floor level at every opportunity, by her employer and the long line of men who were suddenly interested in buying groceries. After the third time, she realized why -- the door had opened at the time, and she had realized she was exposing her ass cheeks when she felt the cold air blowing on her exposed backside. Being the resourceful 18-year-old, Ilsa had adapted by squatting to pick up the items. The following day, she brought along a long-handled scoop so she didn't have to bend over, much to the chagrin of the male customers. Instead of being upset at being foiled, her employer had been pleased -- he had sidled up to her and whispered: "I can tell you are a good girl, Ilsa. Good girls get heavenly rewards if they do as they are told", while his hand strayed up her skirt and ran along the leg seam of her panties. She had quickly moved away to show her displeasure at being manhandled thus, but it seemed to inflame her boss' passions even more. In the intervening days, he would find every opportunity to stand next to her and run his hand up and down her buttocks. The only way Ilsa could get away from such unwanted attention was to stand next to his wife, but such respite was not offered often, because the old woman was seldom at the shop. The incident in the storeroom, which was essentially the last straw for Ilsa, happened just two months into her job at the grocery. All the men were going gaga over Nataly and Ilsa had foolishly thought that her employer would be similarly smitten, but he had had other plans, now that there were less people visiting his store. He had instructed her to go into the storeroom to get a carton of canned food from the top shelf. This was something he normally did himself, and it did seem a little strange to Ilsa that he was asking her to do it instead, but she did as she was told -- he was still her boss, after all. It was to be an instruction she would regret following. As she lifted the carton from the shelf and moved to step down the ladder, she felt her boss' fat hands sliding up the outside of her thighs. "Stop it!" she hissed at him, her arms struggling to hold on to the heavy weight. He chuckled behind her, ignoring her protest, and proceeded to hook his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pull them down past her knees. In shock, Ilsa's first instinct had been to clamp her thighs together to deny him the sight of her naked sex, but he was as quick as he was insistent -- his hands rushed up again to pry her buttocks apart and expose her anus and vulva to his leering eyes. "Oh, such a beautiful golden treasure. I will give you great pleasure," he had purred, and before she had been able to do anything else, he had placed his mouth within the groove of her ass and started sucking and licking. She had shuddered when she felt his tongue probing at her ass and pussy holes -- it was not something she had ever experienced, even though she had heard about it -- and the idea that the repulsive little man she called her boss was trying to give her sexual pleasure was disgusting to say the least. Ilsa had screamed at him to stop and pushed back at him with her butt while taking another step down, but this had only encouraged him further -- he responded by pulling at her hips, cocking them so he had better access to her secret places. Since he was in her way, and her hands were full, she had had no other option than to drop the carton before turning round and pushing him away, before pulling up her panties and stepping down onto the bare storeroom floor. Desperation must have lent her strength, for she managed to push the fat little man hard enough so he had landed on his backside, his mousy moustache damp. "I quit, you pervert!" she had yelled at him, before striding off to the toilet to change into her clothes. He had recovered his composure by the time she was done, and determined to regain the high ground. "You little whore, you're paying for all the tins you destroyed in there," he yelled. "You are going to have to work your ass off to pay me back!" "Even if I do, I won't be working my ass off here, under such a disgusting little pervert like you," she had shot back at him as she left the store. "Only your wife can stand to put up with slimy scum like you!" It wasn't only until she was sitting in her little apartment, after the rush of adrenaline had subsided, that Ilsa started to cry. Life was not fair. It was not her fault that her parents had died when she was a little girl, leaving her to suffer at the hands of bullies at the local orphanage. When she had gotten the job at the grocery, she had thought her luck had finally changed for the better... only to find that her employer was no different from the dozens of boys and men who were all waiting for her to drop her panties for them. Fiends, all of them. As her tears dried, Ilsa had remembered her friend Nataly, and decided that she should take the same path as her schoolmate. As long as she was rich, she reasoned, she would no longer have to suffer at the hands of the bullies. She had looked Nataly up the next day, and her friend had kindly offered to introduce her to an agent in London... which was how she ended up standing outside the door of this ivy-covered house just outside of the city, waiting an answer to the ringing doorbell. The door opened, revealing a dark-haired, smiling girl roughly her own age. "Hi, I'm Chris," the girl said, offering her hand. "Ilsa," she replied politely, taking her hand. This was what her friend Nataly had taught her to do. "My name is Ilsa." "Come on in, then Ilsa," invited Chris, opening the door wide. Ilsa stepped into the warm, sparsely furnished room. It looked bare, but Nataly had told her that this was common -- photographer's studios were seldom cluttered with items that could get in the way of shooting. At the back of the room, Ilsa saw a metallic contraption standing in front of a large white sheet. "Right, Nataly tells me you want to be a model but you don't have a portfolio," continued Chris. It took Ilsa a few seconds to understand what she was saying, but "portfolio" was something she was told she needed to have, so she nodded her assent. "OK then, the changing room's over there," Chris motioned to a door to her right. "Your suit's inside. Get changed so we can get started." When Ilsa stood still, looking a little confused, Chris made the motions of changing clothes, then pointed to the door once more. "Christ, come on, we don't have all day," she muttered. Ilsa understood what Chris wanted her to do, and was about to step towards the room when she noticed a couple of men at the back of the studio. They seemed to be fiddling with the contraption and the white sheet. "Nyet," she said to Chris, nodding towards the men. Chris appeared to understand her immediately. Clearly, Nataly had explained her requirements to Chris. No men in the studio, she had told Nataly. I'm a little shy about wearing so little in front of a man. "No men," Chris nodded, then mimed the actions of setting up while explaining in English: "They are helping me set up this shoot. They'll leave when they are done." She motioned with her hands so Ilsa would understand that the men would be leaving soon. "OK," replied Ilsa, reassured that her first photo shoot would be alone with this female photographer. "I go now." "Good girl," replied Chris, patting her on her buttocks as she walked past. Ilsa had a moment's panic when it happened -- was Chris one of those lesbians she'd heard about, who liked women? After all, the slim, pretty girl was dressed in black slacks and a black shirt. Being rather small-breasted, she looked quite androgynous. Then it occurred to Ilsa that even if she was, Chris was after all, still a woman. She had everything Ilsa had, so there was really nothing to be afraid of. Thus assured, Ilsa proceeded to the changing room. The suit she was given was, as Ilsa had expected, rather more revealing than she was comfortable with. After stepping out of her simple underwear and putting on the lacy item, she looked at herself in the mirror. She looked good, she had to admit. The material was soft and clung to her curves. It was cut high in the legs, making her legs look even longer than they already were. In fact, it was cut so high in the sides that her backside was pretty much exposed, making her blush when she turned to view herself in the mirror. Her ass was so round and big, the material just went in between the cheeks. Maybe this was a mistake. She turned to face the mirror and realized that it was so low cut in front that she could see the edges of her areolae. Embarrassed, Ilsa pulled the material upwards to cover the pink smudges that were showing. Unfortunately, this had the effect of pulling the material tight against her bare pussy, making her twitch. That was another thing Ilsa had had to put up with. Nataly had explained that all the models waxed their genitals, to remove any hairs that might show on the clothes they wore. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Ilsa could see why -- the material was so white and sheer her pussy hair would have been clearly visible. The problem was, after having her privates waxed two days ago, Ilsa was feeling a little itchy down there. The material pressing against her bare flesh was not helping at all. When she pulled at her top, the suit had slipped into the groove of her sex, rubbing excruciatingly at her sensitive flesh. Ilsa saw her labia bulge out around the thin strap of material that was now pressing into her vulva and blushed even redder. This would not do at all. The suit was too revealing. When she plucked the material out and smoothed it over her throbbing mons, she was mortified to see that the material revealed everything when wet -- she could see her pubic cleft clearly under the translucent material. But how was she to communicate with Chris? Ilsa felt a little bad about wasting her time... she seemed to be quite a nice girl. "Ilsa? Are you ready?" came a voice from the other side of the door. Without warning the door swung open. "Don't worry, the guys have left," assured Chris at Ilsa's sudden squeal. "It's ok, Ilsa, no men, look!" said Chris as she led the frightened girl out into the studio. It looked like they were alone in the studio, but Ilsa kept her hands covering her breasts and pubic region. "Relax, it's just us girls here." Chris led her to the contraption she had noticed when she first entered the studio. It looked a little like her old bicycle, except that its front wheel was missing. It was rather tall, so much so that she would have trouble putting a foot on the ground if she were seated on the narrow saddle without falling over. The whole thing was tilted forward, as if it were on a slope. Ilsa looked at the thing curiously, wondering what its purpose was. Chris noticed her stare, and laughed. It was a girly laugh, almost like a bell tinkling, and Ilsa relaxed a little. Chris was still a girl, after all, just like she was. Of course, she could relax. Anyway, she was here for her photo shoot, and she was sure that Chris would not do anything to make her uncomfortable. What was it Nataly had told her? "The best in the business," that's what she was. "Here, let me show you what you should do," Chris said, noting that the Russian girl had let her hands drop to her sides. Good, she was finally relaxing. A picture of a model wearing a similar suit, perched on the same contraption, was produced. Ilsa's eyes widened. The pose looked quite challenging, the way the woman was bent over the cycle, holding on to its handlebars and pushing up her ass so that her body was parallel to the ground. The suit she was wearing was similarly high-cut, making her ass look bare in the picture. But she was smiling at the camera and appeared quite relaxed in the picture, so Ilsa reasoned to herself that she could do it too. "This is my first job, I must make a good impression," she thought as she looked at way the model posed in the picture. Chris was saying something to her. "I want you to get on it, just like that girl," she said, then, mindful of the fact that Ilsa's grasp of English was rudimentary, she mimed the motions to show Ilsa how she wanted her to get onto the thing. Ilsa looked at the cycle doubtfully. Although the model looked comfortable in the picture, the real thing looked fragile, and she wasn't sure it would take her weight. The smooth saddle was so thin that her ass would certainly hang over the sides if she were to sit on it. Plus, it didn't look like it was very stable, the way it was balanced on the tip of a knob-shaped strut, whose rounded tip could be seen through the hole in the middle of it. The seat was cocked at an angle, its forward end pointing down at the floor. The precariously perched saddle was supported by a wire connected to clip that clung to the back of it. Ilsa shook her head at Chris, saying "No, no," and pointing to the seat and then to her own ass. "You're not supposed to sit on it, you silly girl," explained Chris, who then mimed the pose she wanted Ilsa to take up. "Look... you know what a car is? Car?" Ilsa nodded. "Car" was what Nataly had come back in. An "expensive" one too. Then she shook her head at the saddle once more. "No." She pointed to her own ass and opened her arms wide. Chris laughed even harder. "You are the car, Ilsa," she said, pointing at Ilsa's barely covered chest. "You. Car." "Car?" Ilsa said, pointing to herself. "Car!" "Yes, car," confirmed Chris. She pointed to the photograph she had shown Ilsa earlier, and Ilsa finally realized that she had meant for her to pose with her ass just above the seat. She was not supposed to touch the seat, she was only to put her feet into the pedals and lean forward. Her body would be the chassis of the 'car' that Chris wanted to photograph. Oh. She had taken some acting classes as a student in Russia, and she was familiar with the concept of "being" something else. She had been variously posed as a tree, a rock, a flower and a table. Being a car would be child's play. Tapping her shoulder, Chris pointed to some wires that were connected to the ceiling, which Ilsa had not noticed before. Her fingers then pointed to the small loops at the waist of and straps of her garment, and Ilsa realized that her weight would be supported by the wires, to enable her to keep the pose. She smiled in understanding, and Chris seemed pleased. "Here, have a drink before we start," Chris said, suddenly snatching up a small flask from the small table where her lenses and other paraphernalia were stacked. "Drink." "Drink?" queried Ilsa, and she understood immediately when she saw the smaller girl mimic taking a sip from the flask. "Oh. Drink. Ok." She took the flask from Chris and sipped at the warm fluid within. It was nice, clearly an alcoholic drink, but not too heavy. Ilsa had drunk vodka before, so this was really more of a pick-me-up for her. "Drink up, Ilsa," said Chris, and the girl nodded, then finished off the rest of the liquid in the flask. She was thirsty, after all, and a little hungry, but the sheer excitement of having her first photoshoot was taking the edge off her hunger. It wasn't like she wasn't used to being hungry, anyway. "OK, now we start," said Chris when she put down the drained flask. Ilsa caught a look of surprise on the other girl's face as she lowered it, but it was quickly replaced by a look of satisfaction. Good, she was actually doing well here, Ilsa thought. Innocent Ilsa: Portfolio Ch. 01 The next few minutes were spent getting Ilsa into place and connecting her up to the wires that were hanging from the ceiling. The wires really did help support her weight, Ilsa was glad to note as she hunkered down into the pose Chris wanted. "No, no, Ilsa, not like that," said Chris, reaching across her to pull her right leg up a little more. Her hair was fragrant and brushed lightly against Ilsa's breasts as she did so. Ilsa breathed in her scent -- it was fresh and flowery, and suddenly, Ilsa felt ashamed of herself. She must positively smell awful next to sweet Chris. The uncomfortable thought made her shift slightly, and the pedal under her left foot moved downwards a notch. Ilsa felt herself sink down a little, her ass brushing against the saddle just behind her. "Careful! That's expensive, Ilsa," warned Chris and Ilsa cringed. She understood "expensive" because that was one of the words she had asked Nataly to teach her. Chris then motioned towards the clock and the door, explaining that the entire contraption was fragile and that it would take time to set it up again if it collapsed. At least, that was Ilsa's understanding of the furious hand motions and facial expressions she saw. "Ok, ok," Ilsa said. "Careful. Careful." "Good," responded Chris. "Good girl, Ilsa." Ilsa tried to stay in position and not move while Chris set up her equipment around her. She appeared to be putting up cameras all round her, and while Ilsa was curious and wanted to see everything, she quickly became tired of staying still. Her knees were trembling and her thighs and calves were aching by the time Chris was done. Suddenly, a phone rang in another part of the house. "Shit, I hate it when that happens," said Chris. "Ilsa, wait. Stay. Don't move." She put her hand up in the universal sign for "stop". Ilsa nodded, trying hard to ignore her own discomfort. She was a good girl, after all, and she did as she was told, especially when it was clear that someone nice like Chris was doing her best to help her. When Chris stepped away behind her, however, Ilsa let herself sag a little. She hadn't really meant to do so, but her legs were really beginning to ache, and she wanted to use the narrow saddle as a brace while she readied herself to take up the pose once Chris returned from her call. Ilsa realized her mistake the moment her bum touched the tiny saddle. She almost yelped when she felt it begin to slide forward and down between her thighs. Quickly, she leaned back and clamped her thighs together, hoping to keep the saddle in place with her legs and the weight of her butt. She seemed to have succeeded too, at first, although it came with the disconcerting feeling of the smooth metallic knob pressing into her private parts. To her dismay, she felt the material of her suit gather and slip into the groove of her genital cleft, pressing excruciatingly against her clitoris. "Oh! This can't happen," she thought to herself as she pinned the seat back onto the strut it was balanced on. She could feel the cold metal head of the strut at the edges of her vulva, pressing the fleshy lips apart. Ilsa shivered, remembering how her pubis had been revealed when the material got wet. "I have to... get back into position before Chris gets back!" She shifted her weight further backwards in an effort to move the saddle back to its original position, while keeping her thighs clamped tightly together. Unfortunately, this had the effect of pushing her bum up harder against the tiny saddle and the knob in the middle of it. She could feel the material of her garment inside her, her pussy lips widening as the knob encroached further into her now wet hole. "Shit," she thought to herself "That's not good." She had never put anything inside her before -- the closest she had come to being fucked was when she was playing with a toy her classmate had shown her and letting it slip down the groove of her sex. The boys and men of her little village had known this and tried their very best to be the first one in there, but she had managed to repel all of them, so it was pretty ironic that innocent Ilsa was now fucking herself on a set in a photo studio. Ilsa took her left hand off the handlebar of the cycle and reached down to grab the tapered end of the saddle between her legs. She tried pushing it back to its original position on the knob, but did not seem to be very successful -- the damned thing still seemed to be slipping when she took her hand away. Undeterred, Ilsa twisted round to try to get hold of the back of the saddle. This motion rubbed the material up even more against her clit, making her gasp softly. Worse, the movement must have caused an increase in tension in the wires that were clipped to her garment, because she suddenly felt the material at her crotch begin to give way. "No! Please God, help me," she begged silently as she turned back to grab the bars, but not before she felt the bare metal press directly on her flesh down below. The knob was going in! Ilsa tried to lift herself off the saddle but stopped when it seemed to slip further. At the same time, the tear down between her legs seemed to widen because the suit rose further up her body. The deep V of the front was moving slowly upwards, obscuring more of her breasts. Ilsa wanted to cry. It was her first photo shoot, and everything was going wrong. The cycle was falling apart, and worse, so was her garment... she was sure that her entire vulva was exposed, she could feel the air blowing on her bare skin down there. She had to find some way to cover herself before Chris came back. Although Chris was also a woman, it would not do to have someone else gazing upon her privates like that. Gingerly, she twisted around again, remembering the clip that had held the saddle in place when she first viewed the cycle. Surely, all she had to do was to get hold of the wire and pull the saddle back into place? Struggling to ignore the sensations down at her groin, Ilsa turned once more to reach behind her, feeling for the wire holding the saddle. She found it at the exact moment that the garment gave way at her crotch, the wires suddenly pulling the neckline of the suit up towards her chin. Ilsa suddenly found the clip in her hand, and was puzzled for an instant. Why was it no longer attached to the saddle? This thought quickly left her mind as her suit shifted upwards further, exposing more of her lower body. "Wait, maybe I can do something with this," she thought to herself as her fingers found the frayed ends of her garment. She quickly clipped the wire to her garment and pulled it down towards her exposed ass, determined to cover herself up any way she could. The saddle, she would worry about later. But what was there to fasten the garment and wire to? The back part of the saddle was lost down between the bottom of her ass and her upper thighs, and there was no way she could reach it without letting something drop. Quickly making up her mind, Ilsa thrust the clip into her anus, wincing as the blunt tip of it pressed into her warm flesh. She clamped down hard on it with her butt muscles so that it would not slip out. Granted, it was not the ideal solution, but it would at least keep her ass covered while she worked out what to do next. Her suit had been pulled down at the back by her action, but front had risen even further. Ilsa was sure her bare pussy was completely exposed right now. What could she do to cover herself in front at the same time? Plus, there was still the problem of the slipping saddle. How could she retrieve it without falling off the cycle and wrecking the entire setup? And what about the huge knob that was still pressing into her now wet vagina? She remembered how it had looked and shuddered. Surely, she would not survive having that monster shoved into her? And how would she be able to get it out once it got in past the edge of mushroom-like head? Would it be stuck in her forever? The thought made her squirm, and Ilsa instantly found out that movement, any movement, was a bad idea. Firstly, the saddle slipped some more, prompting her to drive her hips backward in a vain attempt to trap it between her butt and the strut that was supposed to be holding it up. That had the undesired effect of driving the cold metal knob up deeper between her thighs, making her gasp. Her lower lips yawned wider around what felt like huge, cold metallic lollipop pressing into her. Desperate to salvage the situation, Ilsa pushed downwards with her legs to get some leverage to push her body off the invading prong, but forgot to keep herself tight behind. What happened next happened so quickly she did not know how to react. Firstly, the clip she had slipped into her asshole suddenly flew out, the motion and her sinking weight causing the suit she was wearing to rip right off her body. Ilsa tried to catch the garment as it tore right off her, but it happened so quickly she only managed to touch the flimsy material as it flew away. To make matters worse, she had had to brace herself against something when her hands left the handlebars in her attempt to preserve her modesty, so she had pushed backwards with her hips. She felt the saddle slip back onto the knob... and down past it. Ilsa squealed as she felt her soft flesh pried apart and stretching to accommodate the relentless metal probe slipping into her, and groaned as her vulva slid shut behind the thickest part of the knob. The thing was inside her! Ilsa was mortified by this turn of events. This wasn't supposed to happen at all! She wanted to cry but she wasn't sure that her make-up wouldn't run. She couldn't let Chris see her like this, impaled on her carefully-constructed contraption. She had to get herself off the thing protruding into her. The problem for Ilsa was that she could not reach the ground, perched as she was on the thing. The pedals of the cycle were as unstable as they looked, and when she tried to balance her weight on both to get some sort of footing, she only succeeded in moving them in a cycling motion. This had the unfortunate effect of driving the strut even deeper into her, distending her vagina fully. She tried again and again, grabbing the handlebars and using her legs to try to push herself off the prong inside her, but only succeeded in fucking herself as she rose and sank, rose and sank up and down the now-warm strut of the cycle. "Ohhh Goddd!" she moaned as she sank back onto the strut once more. "Ohhhh!" Like it or not, the continuous motion of the metallic implement inside her was having an effect on her pussy, and she could feel lightning darts of sensation running across her pubis and up and down her body. Ilsa knew what was happening because she had experienced it once before, with her friend's toy... but the sensations she was experiencing now were a tidal wave compared to the tiny sparks of pleasure she had felt then. Worst of all, she seemed to be getting sleepy. Or was it that she was finding it hard to focus? What was happening to her? She should... Ilsa thought she should call... should call... somebody for... help. But who? Who was she supposed..? Her thoughts seemed to scatter as she tried to remember... Innocent Ilsa: Portfolio Ch. 02 "Sorry I took such a long time," Ilsa heard Chris' voice behind her. "It was an overseas call and..." Her voice trailed off as she came into the room behind Ilsa. Ilsa turned to smile at Chris. She was a car, a part of the machine that Chris wanted to photograph. She leant forward, feeling her bare nipples brush against the handlebars while the lower part of her, the metallic part, pressed comfortingly up against something inside her. Ilsa, the beautiful car. "Ah, I see you have gotten started," smiled Chris, and Ilsa was happy. She was happy that Chris was pleased, because Chris was important. Somehow. Ilsa couldn't remember why it was important that Chris was pleased, she only knew that she was a car and Chris must be pleased. "OK, let's get going," Chris said. She moved towards a camera at the side and lights began flashing around Ilsa. She smiled, she beamed for the cameras as Chris took picture upon picture of Ilsa the car. Chris took pictures of the Ilsa car from the front, the side and the rear. She took shots from afar and close-up shots, and seemed especially interested in the part of the Ilsa car that was filled with something hard. She held her camera close to Ilsa's rear end and took multiple shots and Ilsa smiled for her just the same. She even managed a smile when Chris made her push at the pedals beneath her feet, and she felt the part inside her piston in and out, the stretching and closing sensations deep within making her shudder with the electricity running across her body. "That's good, keep going, keep going," encouraged Chris, and Ilsa responded by pedaling faster. She was a car, a good race car, and she was going to show Chris just what a good race car she was. Ilsa began to pant as the pumping deep in her core increased in rhythm and intensity. She could hear and feel the liquids sloshing inside her body as the electricity built up within. Her nipples were hard knots thumping against the bars in front of her, her breasts heaving. "Very good, keep going Ilsa," urged Chris, and Ilsa heard an exclamation behind her. It sounded like a man remarking about something that she couldn't hear clearly. Ilsa was not about to let herself get distracted from her goal by the idea that some man was in the same room, looking at her sweaty body. She pushed even harder, moaning and gasping as the sparks and the squishing from between her legs built into a crescendo, a wailing that seemed to come from her mouth but originated from the moving part of her. The Ilsa car was reaching her final destination, and she wasn't going to stop. Not now, not... The sudden burst of electricity dazed her. Ilsa screamed as her insides spasmed, clutching painfully at the unyielding metal part inside her. "Good girl Ilsa! That's it!" yelled Chris, who had appeared at her side. Ilsa wondered if she had imagined Chris being clothed when she first stepped into the studio. She couldn't have been, because she was naked now. She looked excited, and as Ilsa dropped her eyes from her flushed face to her small breasts and naked groin, she saw that fluid was leaking from her puffy vulva. "Oh, she has sprung a leak," thought Ilsa, then strong, calloused hands grasped her hips and limbs, and the hard, unyielding part of her was removed. She shuddered as the thick implement slipped out, her soft lower parts closing with a loud squelching sound. "What are they doing to me?" she thought as she was set on the ground. There were sounds all around her, booming, clanging sounds as the other part of her, the part that had been connected to her and had been inside her, was taken away. Then the men came back, and Ilsa reasoned that they must be the mechanics who were going to fix the Ilsa car. She smiled at them as they placed her on her hands and knees on the ground, waiting for them to begin working on her. She was a little cold, and she could feel the liquid pouring from her lower parts, dripping down her thighs. She was leaking badly, and in need of repairing. She felt hands spreading her flesh behind her, and something warm and blunt pressing at the back of her. It seemed to be pressing at a point above where she was leaking. "Oh, they are going to put some petrol into me," she thought to herself, and turned to smile at the attendant. Like Chris, he was also naked. She couldn't see the hose he was holding since he was directly behind her, but she could feel it pressing at where her rear orifice was. "I must relax and let him put it in so he can refuel me," she thought, and relaxed her muscles back there. The thick nozzle pressed inwards and she gasped. It was big, but Ilsa was a car, and she was being refueled, so she could not complain. Instead, she arched her back and raised her hips so that the nozzle could press further into her hole. "Christ, she's got a tight ass," panted the man behind as the cameras flashed. "I don't think... I can hold it for too long." Ilsa grinned at the cameras as she felt her insides give way to the warm and slippery probe. It was sliding in deep, to a place where she couldn't remember letting anything in before. She squirmed with the initial discomfort, suddenly unsure about what she was doing. Was that... in her... ass? But Ilsa was a car, and cars don't have asses. Her mind wandered again, wondering how long it would take before she would feel the fuel pumping into her. She flinched slightly as the nozzle slipped completely inside, something tickly suddenly bumping against her... vulva? No, it couldn't be. Again, there was movement, more flashing lights, and someone giving instructions. Who was that woman? "Get her into position. Yeah, like that," someone was saying, and she felt the nozzle slide out a little as she was rearranged. Then she felt another object pressing at her down there, this time at the part that had been connected to the machine. She sighed as she felt her lower lips slide apart and swallow a warm, large object. Ilsa realized that there was another man in the studio. This one was in front of her... no, under her. He was similarly naked, and appeared to be a mechanic, because he seemed to be trying to plug up the leak inside her. She looked at the woman, trying to tell them that the other woman needed fixing too, but she was busy with her cameras, taking pictures of the Ilsa car getting refueled and fixed at the same time. The two men then began to work on her together. Ilsa felt their hands on her waist, lifting her up and slamming her down, pumping her up and own on the thick poles deep inside her. She wondered what it was they were doing. Then again, what would she know? She was only a car, and they were just doing their jobs, trying to fix her. The tempo of the pumping increased, and two men began grunting and gasping as Ilsa felt her insides being pummeled again and again. The electricity began to build again, and Ilsa began moaning and gasping too as her body responded to the treatment it was receiving. Suddenly, the electricity washed all over her and she screamed. She felt her insides clenching, milking at the two prongs inside and the two men roared in unison. Hot fluid began splashing deep inside her, in front and at the back, as Ilsa groaned with the last remnants of the electrical overload. The men were done. She knew it because she felt their nozzles soften inside her. "That's fucking fantastic," panted the mechanic. "I'm wasted!" Ilsa wondered what he was saying and who he was saying it to. "Yeah, me too," came the voice of the attendant behind her. "You guys haven't seen anything yet," came the girl's voice to her side. What was the name of the girl? She couldn't remember. "You should've seen the way she fucked herself on the bike and shoved the clip into her asshole! This is a money-spinner for sure!" Whoever it was, she sounded really enthusiastic. As the soft nozzles slipped out of her tired orifices, Ilsa heard more noises coming from the back. She was too tired to turn around and see what was going on... she just lay down on her front, panting, as the two men got up and moved away. But Ilsa's repair was not yet complete. More men appeared, with different sized and shaped equipment, to try to fix her and refuel her. Some of them even put their nozzles in her mouth and let her suck on them, which she did, marveling at how spongy yet hard their equipment was. At one point, Ilsa was being serviced by five men, two down below, one at her mouth, and two whose tools were put into her grateful hands. All the while, the cameras flashed, taking pictures of Ilsa, the beautiful car. Ilsa lost count of the number of times she was attended to, but she was glad that there were so many mechanics and pump attendants who wanted to help her, the beautiful car that needed fixing... As the last ones removed their softened nozzles from her grateful lower orifices, Ilsa's last fleeting thought was that they had put too much fuel into her, but failed to fix the leak down below. As exhaustion claimed her consciousness, she felt cool liquid sliding out of her rear hole, and clots of fluid sliding out of her front. She must... ask... somebody... to... look... at... that... Epilogue Confusion was Ilsa's first response as she opened her eyes. Where was she? Did her lecherous boss have his way with her? She could still feel her lower parts tingling. It felt like something had been pushed into her vagina and anus, she felt a little sore down between her legs. "Are you alright?" came a familiar voice and Ilsa suddenly remembered. She had quit her job in Russia and was now in London for her first photo shoot. She was going to be a model. Then what was she doing lying on the floor? She shook her head, trying to focus on what had happened before she blacked out. She looked at Chris, panic in her eyes as she realized she could not remember. "You came out of the changing room, remember?" Chris said. Ilsa was no less confused. Chris sighed and walked over to the changing room where she had left her clothes, then strode over to Ilsa, mimicking her movements. Ilsa frowned, trying hard to remember. "You posed over here and we took some pictures, then you fainted," explained Chris, demonstrating her faint by slumping on the ground. Ilsa still looked confused and uncertain. It seemed like a long time had passed since she first stepped into the studio, much longer than Chris' explanation would account for. She stared at Chris as the girl helped her back onto her feet. She was clad in the same black outfit as when she had first opened the door. The only difference in her appearance was the slight flush on her face, which Ilsa attributed to the warmth in the studio. Yes, it was a little warm in there. Ilsa was puzzled. There were... flashes, almost like photographs, in her head. In one of them, Chris was naked, her brown nipples, flat belly and hairless pubis exposed. She remembered... flashes, liquid... something about leaking. Ilsa turned to the background mounted against the wall of the studio. It was a beautiful picture of a meadow, with flowers and tall grass, and a tree-lined horizon. Why couldn't she remember this? She remembered... something. Something big. A machine. Or did she? Was it just her imagination? "Hey, let's take a break, ok?" said Chris. She put her hands up and formed a capital T, and Ilsa understood the sign. She was a little upset. Oh no. Chris was unhappy with her. Ilsa's face crumpled and she began to cry. "Hey, hey, hey, it's ok, Ilsa," assured Chris, who reached forward to hug her. Ilsa continued sobbing even though she was grateful to the girl for showing her such concern. "It's alright. We can do this again tomorrow, ok?" continued Chris, pulling out a calendar and pointing to the date of the following day. Ilsa nodded, a little more assured that she had not blown her chance to become a model. She was still sobbing when she looked down and noticed that the deep V top of her suit had slipped down and exposed the top half of her nipples. But that was ok. There was no one else in the studio but Chris and her. "Here, you go and change," said Chris, pointing her to the changing room. Ilsa obliged, wincing as she walked. She must have hurt her pelvis when she fainted, she reasoned to herself. She was really quite sore down there. After she had changed into her own attire, Ilsa stepped out just in time to see Chris mopping the floor. She felt bad for the photographer. She had to do everything herself. Ilsa walked up quickly to the girl and tried to grab the mop, but Chris was having none of it. "No, Ilsa, no," she said, waving away Ilsa's attempts to help her clean up. "I'll do that." She stopped for a moment to reach down to the table where her equipment was, and fished out an envelope. "Here, this is for you." Ilsa opened it and her heart leapt. There was a wad of money in it! She squealed, then turned around to hug Chris, ignoring the aching in her groin. "Thank you," she said in heavily-accented English. "Thank you, Chris." 'Thank you' was another phrase she had insisted on learning from Nataly. "You're welcome. You're a good girl, Ilsa," replied Chris as she picked up the mop again. "I'll see you tomorrow." "Tomorrow," said Ilsa, turning to walk to the door. As she did so, she noticed a vacuum cleaner lying on the floor. Its nozzle gleamed, as if it was coated with some sort of liquid. Leaning on its side was a used bag, clearly filled with some sort of yellowish-white liquid. Ilsa crinkled her nose as she noticed the smell. It smelt... funny, yet familiar. Where and when had she smelt that before? Her stomach rumbled. There was an unfamiliar taste in her mouth. Oh well. She would try to figure it out later, after she bought herself a good meal. She quickened her stride as she felt a small mass sliding down her vagina, suddenly wetting the gusset of her panties. "Oh God," she thought to herself. "I hope it's not my period."