The Making of a Whore.
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 married.
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 job.
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.
A wife in her thirties has been losing interest in sex. Then she finds herself trapped alone in her home by a disastrous snow storm...
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