Sure enough, not three weeks passed before I put everything at risk.
The Wake of Shame
One Saturday morning, I woke sweaty and uncomfortable. My pinging headache could be explained by a long night of wild drinking. The mysterious knee under my back, and the hairy thigh across my hips… these were harder to understand.
I cracked my eyes and let the painful sunlight in. I recognized the room. I was in RJ’s house, but not his bedroom, alas.
Based on the sloppy decor, I was in Randy’s room.
Oh, crap.
I turned my head back and forth. RJ dozed on my right side. On the other side was Randy.
There was a third guy in the bed, and I had no idea who he was. I desperately wanted to recognize him, because he and I were lying crotch to crotch, and his leg was across my hips, and he was naked.
Then I realized I was looking down at this stranger over my own bare breasts. At least I was still wearing panties. I flopped back, groaning.
What the hell had I been up to?
“I wish I had a picture of you right now,” RJ whispered.
I shot him a “be quiet” look, but before I could warn him against waking up the guys, Randy rolled onto me and nestled his face in my chest. He had me pinned, and I dared not move.
RJ snickered, shaking the bed.
“Where’s my dress?” I hissed.
“You abandoned it last night. Don’t you remember ‘paying’ for our cab ride home?”
I was torn between asking about the cab ride, and keeping quiet for fear of waking our bedmates.
Randy mumbled something in his sleep, and my hyper-sensitive left breast felt his lips move on my skin. Then a thread of drool escaped his lips, landed on me, and slid down the curve to my armpit.
I started to say something, but Randy moved again. I went stiff as his hand slid across my stomach with a sleepy caress. His sleepy lips tracked down my breast toward my nipple.
RJ raised an eyebrow, his smile growing as he watched my conflict. Randy’s lips closed over my nipple, which, naturally, was excited about the attention. After a few sleepy sucks, Randy dozed off again.
I tried to prioritize my situation. “Who is this guy between my legs?”
RJ shrugged. “Last night at the bar, you started talking about how you’d ‘Pay my rent’ for me. You grabbed him off the sidewalk while we were waiting for a cab. He was almost as drunk as you were. You brought him back to the house.”
“I what?” I hissed.
“It’s okay. I know him. He’s the quiet, scary guy from photography class.”
“Well, I don’t know him.”
RJ patted my cheek. “Don’t worry, nothing happened. Sort of. He did try to pay you, and you did take off his clothes. You said you would get him off—but you kept talking! Talk, talk, talk!”
“What did I say?”
“You thought $20 was too much money, but you couldn’t make change. Eventually, you both passed out.”
I covered my face with my hands. “Why did you let me drink so much?”
“Hey, you’re a grown-up,” RJ said. “Don’t put this on me.”
He was right, but I had to vent my embarrassment. “You were going to let me blow him for $10!”
RJ’s eyebrows shot up. “You do remember! You wanted to ‘sell your mouth’ and ‘drink cum,’ but at a ‘reasonable price.’ You said you wanted to pay my rent for me.”
“That’s a lie!”
“If you don’t remember last night, then how come you knew you offered a blow-job for $10?”
Randy stirred, and clamped his mouth on my nipple again. His damp lips and tongue forced my attention to my chest. It was hard to find a response for RJ. I’d always had a little thing for Randy, and here he was, all asleep, with cute morning-face. And sucking on me.
“Answer me, babe,” RJ pressed.
“It’s my thing,” I confessed. Oh, how horrible. Why did I drink so much last night? I always get into trouble when I drink, it’s fucking humiliating. It was freshman year all over again. Bad Rebecca came out the minute Good Rebecca got too drunk to function. I must be more repressed than a North Korean transvestite.
“It’s your thing?”
Though I was almost naked, and spread out in bed with his roommate and a stranger, I felt a weird, sudden intimacy with RJ. Of course it helped that RJ was grinning down at me, interested and listenable. He had that olive complexion, a stubbly cleft chin, and a very, very wicked smile.
Putting Randy’s nursing mouth out of my mind, I whispered, “It’s just a fantasy. When I drink too much I talk it out. I never do anything.” That I can remember, I added to myself. “That’s why I almost never drink anymore.” Except on weekends.
His finger brushed my lips, and so help me, I shivered. “You’re amazing, Rebecca. Underneath your ambitious personality, and then underneath your insecurities and raging daddy-complex, you’re a hot, steaming sex goddess!”
“Don’t tease!” I warned, but I couldn’t sound very threatening with his roommate clamped to my breast.
RJ was just getting started. “How lucky am I? My best friend is a secret turbo-slut with an easy on-switch. I happen to know a young, gorgeous fashion model who wants to pay all my debts with her mouth! Just put ten dollars in her hand and she’ll talk you to death about how she will give you a blowjob!”
“Shut up!” I tried to hide my grin. “So I’m gorgeous?”
RJ’s finger ran across my lips, and I looked up at him sidewise. He was still smiling, but there was an intense look in his eyes. His finger traced over my lips, and then pressed in. Slowly, I let him into my mouth, my eyes on his. I held his finger on my tongue, my lips around his knuckle.
Well this is new.
Is this something that platonic, friend-zoned friends do together? The moment I held RJ’s finger in my mouth, I knew he would be mine. Not now, but soon. Hopefully.
Maybe it was my general exposure in Randy’s bedroom, or maybe it was because I’d finally told him my most secret fantasy. Whatever it was, I felt like I had nothing I had to hide.
He crooned, “You’d suck dick and give me the money? You’d mouth fuck these guys here to pay my tuition?”
I held his gaze and nodded. In those permissive, intimate seconds just after waking up, I wanted him to know that I would. I really, really might.
“You’ll start today, right? You’ll put the money in my hand?” His voice was throaty, thick with excitement. I nodded again.
He shifted his weight, and for a blindingly exciting moment, I thought he was leaning over to kiss me. But RJ didn’t kiss me. He got out of bed.
“Don’t move.” He quietly left the room.
I knew why. I was disappointed and excited at the same time. Disappointed, because no kiss. Excited, because RJ wanted me to perform for him.
I took inventory of my body. Randy was snoring again, face on my breast. The nameless stranger was a dead weight at my crotch, between my spread legs.
I was pinned in the pile of heavy masculine limbs. Helpless in a good way.
Randy’s hand shifted over my stomach. Guys seem to know, even when they’re sleeping, when their hands are on a girl. His damp palm orbited down to my hips and came to rest on my panties, right on the mound of my sex.
I kept quiet and still, to keep from rousing him. I tried to relax into his hand, so he wouldn’t feel me twitching with tension. Inside, though, I was screaming.
Randy’s fingers fit over my mound perfectly, like a plumber’s seal. I turned hot under the weight of his palm. In his sleep, his fingers flexed and dug.
I glanced down, and saw the unknown guy’s flaccid prick lying across my inner thigh. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.
“Hey, Rebecca,” Randy murmured.
I went tense.
This is it, I thought. Randy and I were about to enter that transcendently awkward interval of time where he would wonder aloud what I was doing in his bed with him and a stranger. But no—he
was groggy, one eye gummed shut, barely able to enunciate.
I acted casual. “Heyyy, Randyy.”
He lifted his face. “You’re in my bed.”
“We’re all in your bed. I don’t want to get up yet. Just go back to sleep.”
A cow-like expression crossed his face. He was trying to think, unfortunately. “I may never get another chance at you...”
“Shhh,” I soothed. I pulled his head back down to my chest. “You’ll have lots of chances at me.”
I stroked his hair, quieting him, and he nursed on my nipple until he dozed off again.
RJ returned and positioned his camera on the desk across from the bed. He checked the viewfinder, centering the lens on the bed.
“Ameet is already up, studying,” he told me.
“Ameet is super responsible.”
RJ grinned. “He’s one guy, at least, who is not in this bed with you.”
“You know,” I whispered back, barely audible, “I thought you were getting me something to wear.”
His grin said it all: Why would I get you clothes, when I can get pictures of you in this predicament? Sure, RJ can be thoughtful, but when he’s working, watch out. I knew exactly what to expect when he had a picture to take. He’s a photographer to the bone.
He sat on the floor, with his back against the desk and the trigger in his hand. He looked at me expectantly. We had an established process by this point, and RJ liked me to run random poses before he gave instructions. For me to do my part, I had to find my light source, and figure out the purpose of the pictures.
The light was full on me, coming in through the open, uncurtained window above Randy’s desk. Twelve feet away from the window was the window of the next house over, and it opened onto a living room. If Randy wanted, and he usually did, he could chat with the tenants of the next house while they played video games. They were college guys sharing a house, just like RJ and his roommates.
As for the purpose of RJ’s pictures, well, that was easy. He wanted to capture the groggy, sordid atmosphere of the morning.
*Click*
I tried to be a good model. RJ would want good poses and good exposure, along with his good light. I curled my hand around Randy’s head and stroked his hair. I turned my face away from the handsome blond with an abashed look.
*Click*
I pulled Randy’s head closer, and soon he stirred enough to take my nipple back in his mouth. That nipple was getting a workout this morning! It was stiff, and sparkling with sensation.
Sure, I felt guilty about objectifying Randy, using his mouth as nothing but a prop for my poses. I was also feeling other things, though. His sucking was the only sound in the bedroom, that and the camera shutter, another turn-on for me. I tried to get past the fact that no matter how I explained it in professional modeling terms, Randy was munching down on a very delicate part of my body.
I went with it. I wanted these pictures to be good. It’s part of my modeling work ethic, which I’m constantly exploring with RJ’s guidance. Each session has to be better than the last. So I turned to the camera lens and beseeched it with my eyes. I cupped my breast for the viewfinder. The camera kept clicking.
I had done all I could do with poor Randy’s mouth, and I didn’t want RJ to have to give me instructions. I wanted that part be my job, as a full creative partner
I had a good idea for the next step, so I went to it. I shifted my hand to my stomach, and ran it down between my hips.
Randy was only half asleep, and his palm cupped my mound over my panties. His palm rested on my clit, and his fingers worked the soft spot at my opening.
I timed it for when his hand flexed open. I pulled the front of my panties down. I stretched the panties away from my sex, and stared at the ceiling—I didn’t trust my eyes for this.
*Click*
Randy’s hand slipped off the fabric and landed directly on my pussy. Now I could feel how wet I was, as his fingers slid over my nether lips, then sank in. I felt every detail of his hand, how his weightlifter’s calluses scraped, how the wrinkles and prints of his fingers felt electric on the softest part of me.
I let the panties snap back over his wrist, and and ran through the poses again for the camera—only this time, with a guy’s hand buried directly in my snatch.
After only one or two minutes of this, the sensation started to catch up. My eyes dropped out of focus, I was breathing too loudly, I was forgetting my light source.
This kind of edgy, hyper-real modeling always left me scattered and discomposed. It was worrisome, and once, I had even shared my concern with RJ. He was confused at first, and then inexplicably smiling when he understood.
“When you don’t now what to do, just keep going, babe. Get to the next, uh, pose. Try to push yourself further. Try more daring things, I mean, more daring poses. Just do what your body tells you to do, and don’t be worried. You’re a natural.”
Suddenly, I didn’t have to think of what to do anymore. The stranger, the guy I didn’t know, moved. He shifted between my legs.
I froze, and Randy stopped fingering me.
Posing with Archibald
We all waited. I’d been moving too much, grinding my hips under Randy’s sleep-fingering. I’d forgotten that I was scissored with a stranger, and that his sweaty cock was stuck on my inner thigh. I belatedly noticed how his cock had been steadily lengthening and thickening as I rocked against it.
In those quiet, tense moments, I also had a chance to connect a few dots. Randy’s hand stopped when the guy moved!
That meant… that meant Randy had only been pretending to sleep! But why would he do that?
Maybe, Bad Rebecca said, rolling her eyes, so he could suck on your tits and explore your pussy at his leisure?
Ugh, men! Bad Rebecca was probably right, for once. I should have suspected something was up. Randy incessantly begged RJ to use him for a modeling shoot. Now, he’d finally found a way, that devious fucker!
I know I should have been flattered, but I wasn’t. Randy doesn’t understand what we’re really trying to achieve, RJ and me. He’s just a guy, a Rugby player doing an Exercise Science degree. He wouldn’t be thinking about how to advance the artistic goals of RJ’s project. He lived in a house where he was surrounded every day by giant, detailed, sexually themed pictures of me latched on to various guys. His simple, one-track guy-mind only thought of me as a piece of ass.
To this day, I still haven’t convinced him that that morning in his bed was about capturing a certain ambience and feeling in the photographs. Whenever the story comes up at parties, he brags about finger-fucking me on camera. Which is so not the whole story, but try telling that to a group of fraternity guys while Randy is pulling the pictures up on his phone.
My thoughts derailed when the strange guy between my legs spoke.
“Hi, everybody.”
“Hey,” RJ answered.
I shot him a look that said, “The jig is up!” He motioned me to stay calm. He wanted to see what would happen next.
In a barely intelligible and still-drunk voice, the guy asked, “Is my forty minutes still going? With your slutty model?”
“Sure,” said RJ. “Have at her. Her name is Rebecca.”
I peered between my breasts at the stranger, but couldn’t see much. I wasn’t surprised when RJ gave permission. When he wanted a picture, nothing would deflect him. He was driven, as he’d warned me on that first day. And heck, I would have said the same thing. The model in me saw an excellent chance to change what was becoming a static, boring situation.
But the other, non-model part of me was thinking, “Who, exactly, gave this stranger 40 minutes with me?”
Bad Rebecca snickered in the back of my mind.
The stranger shifted, stretched, and crawled up my body. Randy rolled off me to give him room.
For a brief moment, I was free and unencumbered—my arms stretched over my head, my back arched, and my breasts pointed at the ceiling. My pussy lips seeming to gr
ab at the cloth of my panties with the same throbbing rhythm of my whole body. If this wasn’t a photo shoot, you would have thought I was primed for penetration.
The camera went: *Click* *Click* *Click*
“You can’t use my face,” the guy said automatically.
It was a high, nasal voice, and I suddenly recognized him. He was another student in RJ’s photography class. I rarely saw him. To me, he was mostly an annoying, opinionated drawl in the darkness that made caustic comments about other people’s work. There was no love lost between this guy and the other students.
“Archibald, if you don’t want your face in the pictures, keep it out of my viewfinder,” RJ said. “Because fuck yeah, this is going in my project. These are excellent pictures.”
“That’s great,” I said, glad to have feedback.
RJ added, “Don’t cover her up, Archibald.”
“No one calls me Archibald,” said Archibald. “Call me Onyx.”
Archibald was categorically drunk. He started tipping to the side. I grabbed his arms and steadied him over me.
“Stop moving around,” he said.
“I’m helping you,” I said.
When he was stable enough, he leered down at me and grabbed my breasts, one in each hand.
*Click* *Click*
“Can I call you ‘whore’?” he asked.
I knew I should say no, out of principle. But it was an unexpected piece of flattery, and moreover, I’d already pegged him as a difficult modeling partner. I would have to work overtime to keep him happy, and to make our poses look good. On the upside, I’d have no trouble at all looking attractive next to him.
I winked at RJ and said, smoothly, “Sure, Onyx. I like being a whore.”
I got a frisson of excitement just saying the words out loud.
Anything for Money: A Sex-For-Hire College Romance Page 6
