4 comments/ 23890 views/ 1 favorites Headshot By: jeanne_d_artois Copyright Oggbashan 4 July 2004 The author asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work. This is a work of fiction. The events described here are imaginary; the settings and characters are fictitious and are not intended to represent specific places or living persons. ************************************************* I was shot through the head with an AK47. It was a mistake. I was with the international press covering a war zone but not as the intrepid TV reporter. I was just an assistant who carried bags, took notes and made the tea. The war had ended and the victors were celebrating. We were standing on the balcony of the hotel watching when one of the bullets fired at the sky passed through my head. I was knocked backwards as the bullet hit. I was falling in slow motion to the floor of the balcony and seeing my colleagues’ faces frozen with shock. Everything went black. ************************************************* I came back to consciousness in a hospital bed. I was connected to beeping monitors, had a tube in my throat and a drip connected to my wrist. I had a dry mouth and felt too hot. I turned my head slightly to see Greg sitting beside me. “Urgh,” was all I managed to say. That was not a very romantic greeting for my intended husband. It seemed to have a dramatic effect. “Jan!” he breathed. “Welcome back.” He leant over me and kissed me. He pressed a bell push beside the bed. “Lay still.” He ordered. “Someone will come to check you over.” I was checking myself. I could feel my limbs. I could wiggle my toes and fingers. I had just turned my head. I shut my eyes and opened them again. Greg came back into focus. I couldn’t move my arms and legs. Perhaps they had been strapped down while I was unconscious? An attractive young West Indian nurse came in to the room. She had a developed figure that I would kill for. She looked at me. I blinked at her. Her eyes flashed across the bank of monitors beside the bed. “Hello Jan,” she said. “I’ll get the doctor to see you.” She left the room in a dignified hurry. I watched her arse waggle as she went through the door. She was female and it showed. I turned back to look at Greg. His face was tired and drawn under the tan. His light brown hair was as unruly as usual with the tuft at the back sticking up. His smile made me feel warm inside. Life couldn’t be too bad if Greg was beside me. His hand stroked mine. I curled my fingers around his. He hadn’t noticed the nurse’s attractions. He had been looking at me all the time. “Don’t try to talk, Jan.” I couldn’t. There was too much in my mouth. The door swung open as the nurse returned with a small Asian doctor. He was wearing a white coat with a stethoscope draped around his neck. His name label said Doctor Ali. I suppose there are only a few hundred similarly named doctors. “Doctor Ali” is more common than “Doctor Smith”. “Hello Jan,” Doctor Ali said. “First things first. We’ll get the tube out of your throat, give you a sip of water, then you can talk.” He did it as he spoke. The nurse held a plastic cup to my mouth. The water was warm and flat but the effect was great. I swilled it around my dry mouth and swallowed. That hurt slightly as it went down my throat. “Thank you,” I croaked. Doctor Ali turned to my intended. “Greg? Would you leave us for a quarter of an hour, please? I need to run some tests on Jan. It will be easier for both of you if you are not here.” Greg nodded. “See you soon, Jan.” He squeezed my hand and left the room. The nurse pulled a curtain across the glazed door. She and Doctor Ali pulled the bedclothes off me. Under them I was completely nude. I looked down. I was distressed by the length of the hair on my legs. How long had I been unconscious? That much hair couldn’t have grown in a few days or weeks. Doctor Ali stroked the soles of my feet. My toes curled. I squeezed his hand with my left hand, then my right. So far so good. Then the bad news hit me. I still felt as if my legs and arms were tied down. I couldn’t move them. My hands wiggled. My feet wiggled. My legs and arms were immobile. I looked at Doctor Ali with tears in my eyes. “My arms and legs don’t move,” I sobbed. “I was afraid they wouldn’t,” he said. “It is early yet. Now you are with us, we can try to find out what is wrong.” ************************************************* Three months later I was discharged from hospital in a wheelchair. My arms and legs still don’t work. There is a faint possibility that something could be done, but not on the National Health Service. The cost would be enormous. Then Greg did something that I wouldn’t have agreed to if I had known about it. He went to his bosses who owned a TV station and a national scandal-rag newspaper. They planned a campaign to raise money for treatment. He even got my parents to co-operate. Between all of them they set up a massive media launch. The first I knew about it was on the national news on TV. There I was as the local beauty queen five years ago, the home movies of me winning a skiing competition, and even rock climbing. Then there were pictures of me being evacuated on a stretcher surrounded by TV crews. The story ended with an appeal “Can you help Jan to walk again?” I was angry. My private grief had been splashed across the TV news. It got worse. The scandal-rag printed pictures of me on their Page Three, topless. I thought those photos had been destroyed but I was the Page Three girl for a week. On Saturday they printed the one with just my hand covering my cunt. I had been wearing a G-string but they edited that out. I was nude for their million or so readers to drool over. What hurt even more than the exposure of my body was the thought that thousands of men might be jacking off over my picture and enjoying themselves. All I could do was stay still while Greg humped me. He could put his cock into my fingers and I could squeeze. He could put it in my mouth and I could suck. He had to move my legs to penetrate me. I couldn’t hold him or cuddle him. That made me cry. I argued with Greg about it. I hurt him. I know I did but I was hurt as well. I didn’t like being a charity appeal. I felt that he had sold my body or at least images of it. I came round after a couple of weeks. I had thousands of ‘get-well’ messages from strangers. A group recorded a pop record for the appeal, then played a “Birthday Concert for Jan”. I had to be wheeled on to the stage. Greg held my arm up while I wiggled my fingers at the crowd. Their response was amazing. Ten thousand people sang ‘Happy Birthday’ to me. I cried. My tears were shown live on TV to five million. The money rolled in. After the concert the total had reached two million pounds. For what? For a faint chance that someone might be able to help me. More important than the money was an offer from a medical research unit near Cambridge University. They worked mainly on robotic arms and legs for people who were missing a limb or two. They thought that they might be able to do something for me because it was the nerve signals that were wrong. Greg drove me to Cambridge. At the door of the unit I met Doctor Ali again. He had come, bringing my medical notes, to discuss my case with the researchers. Three TV crews recorded my arrival. Microphones were thrust into my face. I answered the questions as blandly as I could. How could I answer “When do you think you will walk again?” when I hadn’t been given any hope yet? All I could say was to thank those who were supporting me, and even praying for me. The prayers helped. Even though I was not religious, the idea that Christians, Muslims, Hindus and other groups were praying for my recovery was comforting. I felt as if all those people were giving me a cuddle. Whenever I was beginning to feel depressed or upset the thought of those prayers brought me hope again. The first hour in the laboratory raised my hopes sky high. Electrodes attached to my arms and legs made them twitch and move. I could even flick the switches with my fingers and move my limbs myself. The movements were crude and uncontrolled but… My limbs were wasted with disuse. The researchers, Doctor Ali, and Greg were all pleased. I had several hugs. After some practice I managed a swing an arm to tap Greg on his rump when he wasn’t looking. That made him jump, then both of us burst out laughing. Greg and I moved to the research unit, with our own TV crew. We had several mobile homes placed on a field, plumbed and wired in with adaptations for my wheelchair in my one. Greg had one as well. I enjoyed the limited independence that a few gadgets gave me. I could use the telephone, the TV, the computer and even make a cup of tea with commands from a keypad under my fingers. I still needed help to drink the tea. Doctor Ali and a team of nurses were there as well. They were paid with money from the charity. They were happy. I wasn’t a demanding patient and I was making progress. The TV crew recorded everything. There was a weekly programme for a quarter of an hour every Friday night showing what was being done. The programme had a high viewing rating and brought in more money each week. The researchers were happy as well. They were being paid and their facility was getting national coverage once a week. They were attracting funds and more research into different fields. The funds meant that they could treat more limbless people most of whom wanted to meet me. Why not? Their courage and persistence in face of difficulties were amazing. They seemed to think that it was a big deal to meet me and sometimes get a cameo role on the TV programme. Eventually the researchers had a trial system for my right arm. They had inserted pick-ups into my upper arm that could be stimulated by electrodes on the skin. They connected the electrodes to a keypad under my left hand. They told me what to do. I tried. My right arm lifted from my lap. I swung it sideways. It felt like controlling a fairground coin in the slot crane. Left. Up a bit. Right. Down a bit. I played for hours. At the end I was tired but I could reach to a table in front of me, pick up a cup off a saucer and bring it to my lips to drink. It was half full of water. I had a plastic sheet draped across me or I would have been soaked through. The first dozen cupfuls I poured down my front, recorded faithfully by the TV crew. They also caught my delight when I drank my first sip without spilling. After that progress seemed to be at a crawl again. I was fitted with more pick-ups in my left arm and in both legs. The legs were difficult. Raising and lowering them was easy. Walking was impossible. I had to be slung in a harness and suspended from a gantry so that I wouldn’t fall. Each time I lifted one leg I would overbalance to be caught by the harness. I couldn’t move the second leg to compensate for the change of weight. The keypad system was a dead end. I practised hard to regain the strength in my limbs. Yet after weeks of practice I still couldn’t control my major muscles. Press 1034 then (enter) to lift right arm and turn my hand over wasn’t natural. The researchers and doctors went back to the design basics. The doctors prodded and probed to find the exact point where the link between my damaged brain and the nerves controlling my muscles ended. Some research found on the Internet provided the breakthrough. An American university had been doing some defence contracts on thought control of aircraft. The spin-offs from that had led to them linking a sensor on the scalp to a mechanical arm. They could pick up a coin from a table by thinking at the arm. Some of the researchers flew to the US university and stayed for three months while I went slowly crazy trying to remember thousands of keypad numbers. By the time they got back I had managed to walk three steps before collapsing. Those steps were a great hit on the TV programme, as was my slow ‘Royal’ arm wave to my fans. They brought back a skeleton helmet made to fit my head. It picked up my brain electricity. They routed those signals through a computer and back to the pick-ups in my limbs. The results were immediate and wonderful. Within days I could move my arms slowly but steadily and stop any movement instantly. I could move both arms at once. I looked like Frankenstein’s monster with the helmet on my head. For the TV cameras the helmet was covered with a large headscarf. At the end of the week I could write again. I had been able to type with my fingers but writing with a pen had been impossible. Now I was learning my handwriting again. Best of all, I could hug Greg. I did as often as I could. My control wasn’t good. He either had my best effort at a bear hug squashing the breath out or a gentle tickle. He jumped when I moved my hand to his cock and closed around it. He was afraid I would rip it off. He shouldn’t have worried. Despite the exercises I was still weak. I could wrap my arms around him while he pounded into me. My legs were still difficult but I could spread them by myself. Why Greg had stayed the course I don’t know. For all that I won a local beauty competition I wouldn’t say I was beautiful. I had less up top than many. I had reasonable legs and a pleasing face. My blonde curls helped the image. Greg had seen all of me so many times and done so much for me that there could be no illusions left. He had seen me at my worst. Yet he was still there beside me. He hadn’t even flirted with the nurses and they were a good-looking bunch. I had hugged them too. Delia, the West Indian nurse who had been there when I came round from my coma was a lovely armful. I enjoyed resting my head against her large soft breasts. She was Doctor Ali’s personal assistant. I wouldn’t be surprised if she was more than that for him. After a couple of months the helmet was reduced to a small skullcap with small electrodes stuck on my forehead. That was much more practical to wear. The researchers hoped that they could reduce it still further and ultimately implant most of it under my skin. One morning Delia found me in tears. The TV crew hadn’t arrived so I could be myself and I was unhappy that I couldn’t make love to Greg properly. I wanted to wrap my legs around him and squeeze. I had been trying but all that happened was a twitch. Delia persuaded me to tell her what was making me unhappy. From then on, every morning Delia and I did a new exercise. She would position her legs between mine and I would try to lift my legs around her. She praised every slight movement. She would put a pillow between my legs at night. If I woke I would squeeze that pillow. For weeks all this was happened without Doctor Ali or Greg being aware. All they knew was that I could walk very slowly and stiffly. Delia’s work with me was our secret. Our training wasn’t wholly one-sided. Delia and I discussed sex. I was surprised how naïve and innocent she had been. Apart from the missionary position she had never experimented. I talked to her about various positions, about oral and even anal sex. The last disgusted her so we passed over it. I persuaded her to buy some toys for me. I wore the batteries out in a couple of days. I showed her how to use one on herself. Her excited screams as she writhed over my bed were alarming. I had to shut her up with my hand pressed hard over her mouth. We cuddled each other afterwards. Delia’s breasts were as soft and comfortable as I had imagined. It took all my persuasive skills to get Delia to wear a strap-on for one of my leg exercises. She penetrated me slowly and very carefully as if I would break. It seemed as if she was teasing me. I was so frustrated at the slowness of her penetration that I made a supreme effort. My legs swung around her and my ankles crossed. I pulled and the strap-on banged into me as if all her weight was behind it. Delia screamed. I screamed and locked my legs in spasm, clamping her immovably to me. I banged my hips up and down as Delia’s face paled. She had thought I was in pain. My frenzied movements showed that I wasn’t but she was struggling vainly to get out of my grip. I didn’t let her go until I had experienced three orgasms. Both of us were covered in sweat when I unclasped my legs and released her. She accused me of being reckless and endangering myself. I assured her that far from hurting myself I had developed a new skill. When I suggested she tried locking her legs around Doctor Ali she grinned widely. “I would shock him if I did that.” “Why don’t you? Grab him with your legs and just hold on. If you become good at it you can roll over and ride him,” I said, “Ride him? He’d be humiliated,” Delia replied. “Why? A woman on top can do far more than a man realises. You can swing your breasts over his skin. Surely he likes yours?” “Oh yes, that he does, Jan, but when we’re making love he squashes them.” “If you are on top, you can squash him. Bury his face in your breasts and then move down. That excites most men…” “I’ll try. What do we do about your new skill?” “Greg will have a shock next time.” “Ali will too.” We left it at that. Greg made love to me about twice a week. I’d like more but the researchers and TV crew didn’t give us much free time alone. By now I spent most of my time out of the bed, either walking slowly and carefully or propelling myself in a wheelchair. I had even managed a short run pushing Delia in the wheelchair. That had been a great hit with the TV audience. At night I had been practising with the pillow between my legs. Friday night Greg came to stay all night. We sat down on my bed to watch this week’s episode of Jan’s progress. The run pushing Delia was the highlight. Greg hadn’t seen me do it so it was a surprise to him. He hugged and kissed me as soon as the programme ended. The kissing went further – we ended up naked in my bed. Now it was my chance. After prolonged foreplay Greg penetrated me. I let him thrust half a dozen times before my legs grabbed him. He squeaked! I bear hugged him, trapping his arms, as my legs clamped hard. I locked my legs and then I was in control. We moved to my pace, my direction. Greg’s smile grew as I milked him dry. He slumped across my body as he came into me. I exerted my muscle control to the limit as I rolled us over still clutching him inside me. His eyes opened wide as my lips covered his. His erection soon returned but I just held him still as I felt it grow inside me. He tried to buck his hips. I squashed his movement, pulling him deeper. “Wait!” I ordered. “I’m the boss.” “Yes, ma’am,” he replied. I kept him still for about ten minutes. Then I squeezed my muscles around his expectant tool. I squeezed my arms, my legs and my vaginal muscles simultaneously and rhythmically until he was forced to ejaculate by the strength of my orgasms. The sense of controlling him was so erotic that I reached heights of pleasure that I hadn’t had before the injury. That night I felt that I was my own woman again. I rode Greg twice more that night. Eventually I let him sleep with his head resting on my breasts. The next morning Greg was more exhausted than I. His twice-weekly sessions hadn’t prepared him for a night of passion. Delia and I compared notes. She had ‘raped’, as she put it, Doctor Ali. He had protested volubly as she had rolled him underneath her. She had gagged him silent with her night-dress wound round and round his mouth while she enjoyed herself. Once she had released him he continued to object so she rode him again and again until he shut up. Poor Doctor Ali! He is about half Delia’s weight so I think he must have been flattened and banged into submission. I don’t think it was too terrible an experience. I saw him take Delia’s hand several times over the next week when he thought no one was watching. Headshot I rode Greg several times a week. Riding him was a better workout than all the physiotherapist’s exercise because I had to use so many muscles at once and stifle Greg’s attempts to regain control. The skullcap was replaced by implanted electrodes linked to a small battery hidden under my hair at the nape of my neck. Now I looked normal and my movements were much less jerky. I could walk one or two miles and even juggle two or three beanbags while walking. Greg and I moved out of the research unit’s hospital facility to a mobile home in the grounds where I tried, successfully, to combine domestic chores with writing a book on my experiences. He continued to commute to his work, as he had done for most of his time with me, and we started to plan our marriage. Everything seemed to be heading for a perfect conclusion. The TV programmes had ended some time ago. They were intending to produce an hour-long retrospective finishing with our marriage but that was some time away. The money raised had paid for all my treatment and had funded the research unit for several years ahead. One night disaster struck. I was riding Greg, my arms and legs locked tightly, overcoming his pathetic and futile attempts to displace me as I enjoyed the orgasms induced by my power, when everything shut down as if a switch had been thrown. I couldn’t move my arms or legs and they were impossible for Greg to escape. Even my grasp of his erection had locked into place. I was paralysed and I had imprisoned Greg. When we realised the situation: we panicked. We tried shouting for help but no one was near enough to the mobile home to hear us. There was an emergency call-out button on the bedside table. There was one in every room. It might as well have been a hundred yards away. I couldn’t move to press it. I was holding Greg so tight that despite his frantic efforts he couldn’t even free an arm. An unintended side-effect was that Greg ejaculated into me. Apparently being absolutely helpless in my grasp was intensely erotic for him. As I felt him come I was intensely irritated. Here we were in a desperate situation and all he could do was impregnate me. I tried to squeeze him with anything I could move to punish him. My vagina contracted further. He squealed in pain. I had already clamped him so tight that the last contraction around the base of his penis hurt. If I could do that… I concentrated hard on my right arm, nearest to the call-out button. It twitched. I tried again. It flinched. I screwed up all the effort I could. My arm slid away from Greg. He could reach out with his left arm and press the button. Doctor Ali and Delia came running in their nightwear. He had a dressing wrapped over his nakedness. Delia wore a voluminous white night-dress under a satin wrap. I explained what had happened. The whole system had shut down. Why? The answer was simple. The small battery under my hair was flat, exhausted, totally dead. A wire had been displaced and shorted it. Such a little thing yet it had caused so much embarrassment. Doctor Ali moved the wire, fitted a new battery and I could release Greg. Yet how had I moved my arm? The battery had shorted out and there was no possibility that any current had got through. I had to endure many tests with the battery disconnected. Eventually they discovered that my brain had adapted to the new situation and new pathways were being created that would directly feed impulses to the sensors under my scalp. They weren’t as strong as those fed by the battery but could give me some movement even without the battery. I practised until I had some control. It would never be more than a few limited movements yet it gave us some fallback if I trapped Greg again. When we married, Doctor Ali was Greg’s best man and Delia my chief bridesmaid. It was a media circus as I walked to the church. I had spent weeks practising walking with a long heavy skirt and kneeling at the altar. Everything went perfectly; the sun shone; the arrangements all worked. That night on our honeymoon I pretended my battery had shorted out again when Greg was already exhausted. It had the effect I wanted. Trapped inside my body, clamped by my arms and legs, a tired Greg responded again to set a new record for successful impregnations in one night. I think he knew that I was faking but even so the result was satisfying. I may be partly bionic but he knows I’m all woman, headshot or not. Headshots **** Fashion Photog Seeks Aspiring Models **** Wanna live the good life? Make a great living just by looking hot? Travel the world servicing some of the largest accounts in the biz? DUH! Who doesn't, right!?!? Well, I've made that dream come true for dozens of girls. Right now I have several clients looking for fresh faces and new looks, and if you're REALLY HOT (9.5's need not apply), email a snapshot to Ricardo using the link below. If I like what I see, I can make you a star. Free headshots if you're truly exquisite. * * * * "This guy?" Laurie asked incredulously, as she looked up from her laptop. "Yep," Jordan replied. "This guy?" "Yes." "THIS is guy?" "YES, already." "You answered this random pervert's sleazy little simonslist ad, and you had him take your headshots?" Laurie had really been wondering how Jordan had gotten started modeling, but in a million years she never would have guessed this. "Yep," said Jordan. "And we did a couple other poses and stuff, too. The guy shoots everything - headshots, fashion, swimsuit, lingerie--" "*Porn*..." Laurie interjected, as though the business practices of photographers in Los Angeles was obvious to everyone but Jordan. "Well, I guess he does some stuff that you'd call porn," Jordan said, "but not everyone gets all 'College Republican' about that kind of thing. He calls it 'fetish,' and honestly, a lot of it is really very artistic. And besides, despite what you think of me I'd never actually do any of the really sleazy stuff. You know those underwear ads in the Sunday paper? Are they porn? Ricardo shoots a lot of those, and the models make really good money." "Ohhh, I see, this 'Ricardo' does Sunday paper lingerie ads and *artistic* porn," Laurie said dramatically. "God, Jordan, sometimes you simply amaze me." "So, you don't think you could do it?" asked Jordan, setting the bait. "No, I know I could do it," replied Laurie, swallowing it hook, line, and sinker. "I just haven't decided whether I want to." * * * Laurie and Jordan had been friends since they roomed together freshman year, and their friendship proved how much they had in common despite their outwardly enormous differences. Jordan wasn't really dangerously wild, but she was definitely more comfortable taking risks than Laurie was. And Laurie wasn't really as big a tight-ass as she could seem to be, in fact she was actually a wonderful friend and could be a hell of lot of fun. Used to be a lot of fun, at least, but she had changed a lot in three years. She always had kind of a conservative streak and just months earlier, at the start of their senior year at Pasadena Polytechnic, Laurie had confirmed Jordan's worst fears when she ran for president of the campus chapter of the College Republicans. And when she won, Laurie had started getting a lot more strident about Jordan's sexuality. Jordan had come to college with a very open mind about sex - and had quickly developed equally open legs for anyone who had the right blend of looks and sensuality. She was basically omnisexual - "Anything that moves, as long as it's hot," she'd tell Laurie with a wink - and it was the promiscuity that had Laurie insisted had started to bother her the most. "Look Jordan, if you want to be bi, be bi; even if you want to be full-on gay, go ahead and be gay - no one's criticizing your choices," Laurie would say when she wanted to make a show of how tolerant she thought she was, "I just wish you wouldn't be such a slut about it. You deserve better." And truth be told, despite the ignorance of Laurie's comment, Jordan really did deserve better in a lot of ways. She had the perfect look for a modern model -- long and lean, more athletic than skinny -- but she also had simply atrocious taste in relationships. Even though you'd think no one so attractive would tolerate much grief from a boyfriend (or a girlfriend), like a lot of painfully attractive women, Jordan could be very insecure, and had been put through some really heart-rending breakups. Laurie was the permanence in Jordan's life - and physically stunning, too, but in a very different way than Jordan. Laurie was more of an Aria Giovanni to Jordan's Gabby Reece. She was lust made flesh, in Jordan's opinion, but Jordan had long ago resolved never to try anything with Laurie. For one thing, Jordan knew it would be pointless since Laurie would never go for it; and for another thing, sometimes being bisexual and sizzling hot could be surprisingly lonely. Jordan simply didn't have many friends left who she hadn't fucked, and she generally liked the idea of keeping at least one. For now, Jordan limited herself to occasionally taking a really good stare at her friend's body around the dorm room or in the showers at the gym, and then occasionally using the memories for some really hot jilling material. * * * So even as she sat through Laurie's sarcasm about the range of material in Ricardo's portfolio, Jordan knew Laurie really meant to be a friend. "Even if Laurie has grown to be a little judgmental, her heart's in the right place," Jordan thought to herself. "Right behind those spectacular tits," she added silently before immediately chasing the thought away. "Well, Laurie," she said aloud, "here's how I see it: you can't even get a meeting with an agent without a good headshot, and you definitely can't get decent work without a good agent. So if you don't want to do it, don't do it; but if you're serious about trying to get into modeling, this is what worked for me." Instead of responding, Laurie just looked back down at the screen and chewed her lip a little bit as she thought it all over. Jordan allowed herself a quick peek down the front of Laurie's blouse and successfully stifled a sigh. * * * "Hi, Laurie?" asked Rick upon opening the door. "Yes, hi, you're ... Ricardo?" "Yes," replied Rick, "come on in. It's nice to meet you." He always cringed a little bit over the "Ricardo" thing. He knew it was pretty lame, but it did seem to impress the girls. Undergrads could be so predictable. "Can I get you anything? Water? Coffee? Soda? I've got frappucinos in the fridge if you want one?" "No thanks," answered Laurie a little nervously. "I'm good." "Fair enough. Let me know if you change your mind. In the meantime, have a seat, I'm going to go finish setting up for your shoot. You sure you don't want anything?" "No, thanks, really, I'm fine," replied Laurie. "And I'm not going to be here long, anyway. If you don't mind, I'm just going to let my roommate know where I am," she added, pulling out her cell phone. "Good idea, I totally understand. You live with Jordan, right? I've definitely got to thank her for showing you my ad, I really owe her one. So, go ahead and take your time," said Rick, on his way out of the room, "and we'll get started whenever you're ready." Once he left, Laurie turned back towards the front door, and punched up Jordan's phone on speed dial. "Jordan, hey, it's me," she said. "Yeah. Yes, but Jor-- Jordan, stop. Shut up for a sec and listen, I'm here, but I need to tell you something. I know this guy," said Laurie with alarm. "No, I mean I actually know who he is, I've met him before. He's not a photographer, he's a post-doc in Electrical Engineering." The vice president of the College Republicans was majoring in EE and was always going on about this genius post-doc his professor had for a Teaching Assistant. "And his name isn't 'Ricardo,'" continued Laurie, mime-ing the scare quotes around 'Ricardo' with one hand and a roll of her eyes, "it's just Rick." She paused while Jordan finally got a word in. "What do you mean, 'so'?" Laurie said in response. "You don't think that's weird?" "On the side? OK, I guess I could see that -- yeah, that is a lot like us, he's a part-time photographer just like we're part-time models? Yeah, OK. ... Short for 'Ricardo,' huh... Could be," said Laurie. "Still seems weird though." Again, Laurie gave Jordan only a moment before quickly interrupting. "Jordan, I never said I wasn't doing it," she said with an edge in her voice. "I just think it's weird. Look, I called you just so you'd know that I'm here, and I'll call you again when I'm done - see ya," she added, tersely ending the call. Back in their dorm room, Jordan cheerily replied "See ya," before she hung up, casually leaned back in her chair, and returned both hands to gently masturbating herself through her panties. * * * Rick left Laurie alone to make her phone call, and went back to his supply room to prepare. Once there, he grabbed a tripod, a digital SLR camera body, several lenses and filters, a 4 gigabyte memory card, and an unusually large power pack. He then opened the lowest drawer of his filing cabinet and grabbed an exquisitely handmade piece of complicated electronics from underneath a false bottom. Then he quickly adjusted his pants to make room for his stiffening cock, and took everything back out to the studio. * * * "OK Laurie, I know that when we emailed each other you said you were positive you only wanted to do headshots, but are you sure you don't even want to try doing anything more? I've been in this business long enough to know that headshots are purely a formality for someone as hot as you are, so I just feel like I have to give you the chance to do some real work right away." Before Laurie could answer, he continued, "The first time Jordan was here, she felt the same way, but we ended up doing maybe seven or eight rolls worth of really terrific poses. And I promise you, she loved doing them! Any chance I can change your mind?" "No, Rick, definitely no," she said, not really caring whether 'Ricardo' caught her reference to his real name. "Look, I really only came here for the headshots, and I intend to be very selective in the other work I'll do. I'm sorry if this comes across the wrong way, but I'm just not at all interested in doing the other kinds of stuff you shoot. So, but how about we just get on with the headshots so we can both go about the rest of our days, OK?" "All right, all right, suit yourself. It's just a criminal shame to limit yourself so strictly, but hey -- you're the model, and I definitely respect your limits. That's the way this works: the instant you say stop, we stop. Fair enough?" "Fair enough," replied Laurie, flashing her thousand watt smile. "Wow," Rick said, "you really are just ... spectacular. The guy who does the rest of your shoots is going to be one lucky shutterbug. OK, enough small talk -- let's get started. Back straight, shoulders back a bit. Yep, a bit more, good. Eyes right up here. Good. Chin out a little. Look right here." [FLASH] "Good. Again." [FLASH] "Good one. Again." [FLASH] "Brush your hair back a little? Out of your eyes -- yeah like that, thanks." [FLASH] "Good one." [FLASH] "Again." [FLASH] "Not bad. OK, turn in your chair a little and let's get more of a profile--" "Wait a sec," said Laurie, shaking her head a little. "You ok?" asked Rick. "Yeah, I'm ... I just ... That flash is really ... bright, or something." "Wow, that's very perceptive, Laurie - you're right. Or not wrong, at least, technically. It's not actually all that much brighter, but it is quite a bit different than a standard flash. It's filtered and calibrated to blend some very carefully selected wavelengths and to focus the light in some very unique ways. It's my own design, as a matter of fact, and I find it gives me really nice results. Is it bothering you?" "No, not really, I guess it just ... takes some getting used to. Are we done?" "Almost," said Rick. "Let's just get a couple different angles to be sure. Eyes up here." [FLASH] "Again." [FLASH] "Great. Lick your lips once. Nice. Right up here." [FLASH] "Yeah, that's hot. Lick your lips again. And look right here." [FLASH] "Hot. Tell you what - let's get a couple head and shoulders shots. How about you just undo one button on your shirt?" Laurie wanted to object, but couldn't seem to find the words. Rick continued before she had a chance to collect her thoughts. "Remember, headshots are how you sell yourself as a model," he said, "so you should play to your strengths. And trust me, opening that shirt a little would definitely play to your strengths." Again, Laurie's first thought was that she should be a little offended, but for some reason she wasn't. It occurred to her this it was kind of interesting, in a way - that instead of actually being offended, she just thought she should be offended, even though she just couldn't seem to actually work up much irritation over it. Instead, she sat still for a second or two and then just reached up and popped her top button. "Nice," said Rick. [FLASH] "I like it." [FLASH] "Great. Do another one." Laurie didn't even pause this time before opening the button that rested squarely between her breasts. [FLASH] "Nice. Now open that next one, too. Beautiful." [FLASH] "Yeah that's nice." [FLASH] "Shoulders back a little more? Yeah, like that. Let me see that bra." [FLASH] "Sweet." [FLASH] "Ok, can you untuck your shirt for me now? Nice." [FLASH] "Good one." [FLASH] "Now just take your top off. Yeah, all the way off. Very nice. Eyes right here." [FLASH] "Nice. Shoulders back. Right, just like that." [FLASH] "Boy, that bra is frickin' hot, I love that black lace." [FLASH] "Undo the clasp." [FLASH] "Nice. Eyes up here." [FLASH] "Great. Smile at me a little, like I just caught you in the middle of something naughty." [FLASH] "Sweet. Slip the straps off now, but hold the cups on. Yeah, like that, and lean forward a little. Exactly." [FLASH] "Nice." [FLASH] "Shit, that's good. What are you, like a thirty-four D?" "No," Laurie replied in a near whisper. "Thirty-six E..." And then she just sat there and stared back at him. [FLASH] "I love it. Go ahead and drop the bra now." [FLASH] "Ohhhhh god DAMN... You are fucking perfect." [FLASH] "Beautiful. Pinch your nipples a little." [FLASH] "Nice. Eyes up here. Again." [FLASH] "Yeah. Again." [FLASH] "Nice. Now stand up, turn your hips to the side just a bit and face me." [FLASH] "Nice. Now lose the skirt. No no, wait, not like that - slowly. Shift your hips from side to side and just do like an inch or so at a time." [FLASH] "Yeah..." [FLASH] "That's hot." [FLASH] "Nice." [FLASH] "Nice. Ass out a little, as you slide it past..." [FLASH] "Love it. Put your thumbs inside those panties now, and kind of push them down at the front a little." [FLASH] "Sweet." [FLASH] "Again. Eyes up here." [FLASH] "Nice, a little more." [FLASH] "Nice. Show me a little fur." [FLASH] "Beautiful, those are great. OK, get down on your knees and hold tight for a sec, I'll be right back. [pause.] OK, open ni-i-i-ice and wide, right, just like that. ... Thatagirl, just let the ring slip just behind your teeth. Exactly, just like that. Right. Now hold your hair up for a sec so I can do the buckle. Nice. Actually, hold that pose for a sec?" [FLASH] "Nice." [FLASH] "Eyes right up here." [FLASH] "Nice. Chin up some more. No no, the drool looks hot - just leave it." [FLASH] "Nice. Tits out a little more." [FLASH] "Fuck, that's hot. Again." [FLASH] "One more." [FLASH] "Sweet. Let's add another element now - here, hold out your wrists. [clickclick] There, are those too tight? Laurie? The cuffs? [chuckle] Guess we'll call that a no... OK, hands down again, between your legs." [FLASH] "Nice. Go ahead and touch yourself a little." [FLASH] "Nice." [FLASH] "Yeah, that's hot, go ahead and work it a little." [FLASH] "Ohhh, that's really nice. Damn, you are just soaking those panties, aren't you?" [FLASH] "Really nice. Go ahead and lay back on the couch now." [FLASH] "Fuck, Laurie, you look so fucking hot like that. Pull the crotch aside a little if you can." [FLASH] "Ohhh, fuck. Hold on a sec. [zzzzzip.] Damn, baby, these pants had to go, or I was gonna pop right through them. [shuffle.] Whoawhoawhoa, not so fast - go easy on that pussy. No, you can keep going, just do it slowly. You don't get to come until I do." [FLASH] "Yeah, that's better. Eyes up here." [FLASH] "Spread your legs a little more." [FLASH] "Perfect. Again." [FLASH] "Nice. Can you roll your hips up a little more? Right." [FLASH] "Nice. Keep your legs nice and wide and try and get your knees way up by your tits." [FLASH] "Nice. Tell you what, reach down and spread yourself open. Yeah, like that." [FLASH] "Yeah. Keep those hips rolled up, too. Show me your asshole." [FLASH] "Oh, fuck that's nice." [FLASH] [sigh] [FLASH] "God, you just look too fucking hot. Now Laurie, we're really going quite a bit further than headshots here, aren't we? So listen, I told you I'd respect your limits, and I will, so if you want to stop, just say so. OK? Laurie? Hmmm... How about this instead: if you're a completely mind-wiped little fuckslut who'll obey my every whim no matter how twisted or degrading, just lie there staring into space and drooling all over yourself while a tiny bead of pussyjuice trails down towards the crack of your ass, OK?" Laurie didn't make a sound. Instead, she just blinked twice, shuddered a little and stared into space, drooling, while a tiny bead of pussyjuice trailed very gently down across her lips towards the crack of her ass. "OK, as you wish... I'll just catch you later to get your signature on a release, but that'll do for now. [chuckle] OK, hold still for a sec, Laurie, I'm just going to ... lean up here a little, and ... yeah, stay just like that. No, don't push back, I'm not going to put it inside very far, I just want to get a couple shots of my cockhead sliding across those lips a little bit..." [FLASH] "Ohhh f-f-fuck, you are so fucking wet..." [FLASH] "Ok, that's enough of that -- I know, I'd love to just fuck now, too, but I don't want to waste the money shot. Here, stand up and come on in here for a minute, we'll do some shots in the bedroom. That's it, right this way. We'll finish up with some shots over here on the Sybian. Right over here. Yep, that's it, put one foot on either side of it and just let yourself squat down over it. Good, now just line yourself up on the dildo and get ready to let in push in. Not yet, though, hold on..." [FLASH] "Good. Eyes right here." [FLASH] "Nice. OK go ahead and push down on it." [FLASH] "Nice -- a little more." [FLASH] "Keep going." [FLASH] "Keep going." [FLASH] "I know it's big, but look at how fucking wet you are -- you can take it." [FLASH] "That's it. Here, I'll turn the vibe on low just to spice you up a bit, but don't get into it too much. No one's allowed to come until I come." [FLASH] "Yeah, you like that vibe, don't you? That's re-e-e-ally nice." [FLASH] "Yeah. All the way down. Eyes up here." [FLASH] "Really nice. Be careful with your clit against that base, though, remember: no coming until I do. Which is about fucking time come to think of it... OK, go ahead and just simmer for a minute while I get the tripod and the remote for the shutter set up." [Pause.] "There. Blocking looks good, light looks good, OK. Head back, eyes up here, see if you can pinch your nipples with those cuffs on. No, that's no good, just pinch one of them. That's it." [FLASH] "Again." [FLASH] "Nice. Tongue out now." [FLASH] "I know it's hard with the gag in, but just get that tongue out as far as you can." [FLASH] "Nice. Now you just hold it still, I'm going to run my balls across your tongue. F-f-f-u-u-u-u-ck yeah, justlikethat..." Headshots [FLASH] "Ohhhhh yeah... God, I could come just by looking at you. OK, I'm going to crank the vibe up now, but no coming until I do, OK? Come when I do." [FLASH] "Too fuckin' good. Lick the head now." [FLASH] "Oh shit yeah. Yeah. No, you just lick, I'll fuck it in and out of your mouth..." [FLASH] "Yeahyeahyeahyeah" [FLASH] ... [FLASH] ... [FLASH] "Oh! [pant] Here ... it ... comes! [pant] Head back! Tongue out! F-f-far as you can!" [FLASH] "nnnnnnnnghOHHHHH!!!" [FLASH][FLASH][FLASH] "OH oh oh ohohohoh...." [FLASH][FLASH][FLASH][FLASH][FLASH][FLASH] * * * "Hello, Jordan? Yeah, it's me. We're done. Yeah. Yeah, well, actually ... it was great! Yes, seriously, it was really terrific, I loved it! I *know*! No, I'll definitely admit it -- you were absolutely right, it was great: totally classy, totally fun. I don't know what more to say, I just loved it. Uhhh yeah, you could say we did more than just the headshots -- considering that I've got Ricardo's come all over my face! *Yeah*! No, I know, I never would have expected to do all this either, but ... I don't know -- it was just all really hot so I guess I just went with it. Yeah! Yeah. Hey listen, Ricardo says he wants you to come over and lick all this come off me. Yeah! Well, I guess it's drying out a little, but he says that's no problem, he's got lots more where that came from. He says you can lick his next load off my tits. Yeah. Umm, actually Jordan, I already knew you did, you were never particularly shy about checking me out! No, it did a little at the time, but not anymore. It's hard to explain, but ... it's not like that now, now it just sounds really hot to me, too. Yeah. I *know*, I am too, baby, seriously, I'm getting hot all over again just thinking about it. I can't wait... So hurry over here, OK? Cool. Love you, too. Bye."