Katie Jones arrived at the studio at the appointed time. To say she was
nervous was an understatement. It was her husband's idea that she went through
with the photo shoot, despite her best efforts to convince him that they should
wait. They would find the money from somewhere. Just give her time to get a job,
she told him. There was that interview for the hostess job in a night club in
just a few days time. Why did she have to do this now? She could get the job and
their money problems would, in an instance, be solved.
Frank would always get exasperated whenever they talked about this, which in
the current environment was almost every hour of every day, explaining to her
over and over again that they could not wait. They needed the money now and the
money being offered by Jack Wells, his boss, was too good to turn down. And it
was money in the bank rather than the possibility of money from a job which she
may or may not get.
And boy did the Jones' need the money. Frank, aged 35 was a middle ranking
manager for a major bank in the City of London. He was married to the stunning
Katie who had been his secretary for a short while. She was a mere 21 years old.
She had been 19 when they first met and the dirty bugger had done rather well in
nabbing such a fine piece of ass. Firm policy had dictated that one of them had
to leave, relationships with co-workers were not tolerated. So it made natural
sense for Katie to leave since Frank had the better job. She very quickly got a
job with another bank, their marriage blossomed and soon thereafter they got
Then, like most newly weds, they decided to buy the big expensive house in
one of those middle class suburbs. They could not really afford it but, a couple
of years ago, interest rates were low and the mortgage broker told them they
should leverage themselves up, pay next to nothing on the interest and, if and
when rates did go up, well they were both in jobs, their salaries would have
gone up so there should be no problem in repaying the loan. Like so many others,
they bought into this dream and they bought a large 5 bedroom house in the
affluent town of Guildford, Surrey, home to many well paid bankers.
Alas 2007 was a very different place than 2005. Not only had interest rates
rocketed up to eye watering levels, but the sub prime crisis and the subsequent
credit crisis had caused a wave of redundancies across the financial sector in
London. The once great titans of the financial world were now on their feet and
there were cutbacks galore in London and it was not long before Katie lost her
Then they fired a whole swath of managers at banks but luckily for Frank, he
was one of the few who were spared. New managers arrived with an aggressive way
of doing business. Failure was not tolerated and everyone had to prove
themselves. Bonuses were ruthlessly cut and salaries frozen. And still rates
rose and the Jones' found it increasingly difficult to meet their mortgage
repayments, especially on one person's income.
Their financial situation had, like for many other Britons, got progressively
worse and worse. It had got to the stage where Frank and Katie's savings had
gone and they could no longer make ends meet. Something had to give. They could
either sell their house, but in the current market they would get less than what
they paid for (disaster) or alternatively they could fall in arrears and the
bank would repossess. Also a disaster. The only option was to generate another
income stream and that is where young Katie came in.
Katie desperately tried to find work but, with so many people with superior
qualifications out there unemployed and looking for work, it was proving rather
more difficult than she envisaged.
The problem for Katie was that her main asset was her body, and she was
reluctant to utilise it. Indeed Katie could have easily been a model, well a
glamour model at least since she was petit at 5 ft 4. Not only that, if she
wanted to make real money she could easily have been a porn queen, her looks
were so good (and filthy). She could have easily been mistaken for the Romanian
porn Goddess, Jasmine Rogue.
She was the image of her. Blonde, slim, beautiful angelic face, an ass of a
10 year old boy and the most sinful pair of tits imaginable - which were
impossibly big for such a petit body. Those 34DD jugs never failed to go
unnoticed by men who could not help but to stare at her young body.
And during the last 6 months of looking for work, some of the agencies had
suggested modelling and implied that there was a considerable amount of money on
offer if she stripped off her clothes and displayed her young, tight body to the
paying public. A few had gone so far as to mention the large sums on offer for
appearing in a porno film. She had of course always resisted. She was far too
shy to display her body to anyone else other than her husband. When she got
married, she had been a virgin. The only man who had ever seen her fully naked,
with the lights on, was her husband. That would be until today.
And as for appearing in a porno film? Don't be silly. Respectable middle
class married girls living in affluent Surrey did not appear in porno films. (Or
so she thought).
However, today all that was going to change. And the instigator of poor
Katie's change of heart? Well her husband, naturally.
Frank had become, a few years ago, a member of a very select, secretive
photography club. He had been introduced to it by one of his co-workers. Their
sole purpose was to indulge in their fantasy of taking pictures of young girls.
They would ask them to dress up in various outfits, maybe as a schoolgirl,
nurse, secretary or in just some skimpy revealing lingerie etc. Essentially
whatever took their fancy. And in return the girls were paid a considerable some
of money. And the money they got, got higher the more they exposed.
So, for instance, if a girl did not want to disclose her tits or pussy to the
eager men, she would get a flat fee of £200 per session. She would dress up,
reveal a little leg and cleavage and that would be it. Not bad for two hours
work. However, revealing her tits, well that would cost an additional £100; her
pussy a further £100 and, to reveal her anus, a whopping £150.
So, in total, a girl could make in one two hour session £550 plus tips. Not
bad. And many of the girl's were repeat performers, they would come back once or
twice a week and, if they were going full on naked, they would clear at least
£1,100 a week, cash in hand, no tax, thank you very much.
And where did all these glamorous girls come from? Well, the club would
regularly advertise for them in various magazines and newspapers. They would ask
for high class glamour models who were interested in making good money for some
private work. Interested applicants were asked to send in a full picture of
themselves plus their vital statistics to an anonymous address.
If they looked like they had a body worthy of being photographed, they would
be asked in for an interview by the chairman of the club. There was, of course,
a careful vetting process since they only wanted girls of a certain "calibre" to
participate -- i.e. they had to posses a body sufficient to fulfil what the men
wanted. And there were no shortage of applicants.
Schoolgirls wanting money to supplement their drink and drug habit; college
girls paying their way though college; and last, but not least, hot horny young
housewives who either fancied adding a little spice to their dull married life
or needed money to put food on the table.
And it was the last category that the club liked the most, the forbidden
flesh of a young wife who was revealing herself because they were desperate for
the money. These type of women were rapidly on the increase as the economic
situation deteriorated and they were the most willing and were prepared to
reveal the most.
They came back again and again as their inhibitions melted away and their
bank balance swelled. All of them would never reveal to their husbands that they
were models, most would claim that the money came from doing some other mundane
job. And, crucially for the club, most of them eventually came to revel in
revealing their body to men that were not their husband.
Initially, they would just want the £200 flat fee. They would just dress up
in a sexy dress, maybe a short mini skirt which revealed their legs and they
were always made to wear stockings, suspenders, suspender belt and a g-string.
The skirts were always of a length that allowed the flesh above the stockings to
be on display. They would first be asked to sit in a chair, cross their legs so
the skirt would rise up their delicious thighs and the tabs of their stockings
would be revealed.
They would then be asked to undo a few buttons of their shirt so that there
cleavage and tits (at that stage they would still be covered by a small lacy
black bra) would be on display. Some would even agree to take the bra off,
provided the shirt remained on. That made little difference to the cunning men
since the shirt's they were made to wear were always made out of the thinnest,
most transparent cotton imaginable and, under the glare of the camera lights,
you could clearly make out the outline of their tit flesh.
If they enjoyed the basic session, almost all would return with a view of
just doing the basic session again. But once the photographers had demonstrated
an element of trust with the young ladies, the women would became more
comfortable in their presence and on that second visit, which was always at
night, a little wine would be served.
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