The weird thing is, I feel like I’ve known Roland for a long time. I’m very comfortable around him. He was doubtful that it was my first modelling experience the first time he met me and I modelled nude for £100, because, he said, I was very good at modelling and obviously experienced. I know that he was surprised how comfortable I was modelling nude, like I’d done it before. But I think it was because I felt comfortable around him and also safe, well as safe as you can feel naked and alone with a man in a mostly empty building with your phone way over there because you made a rare miscalculation cos you were so busy wondering if he’d possibly pay you for future spankings or sex acts or buy your virginity. I didn’t feel nervous at all about modelling or taking it off. Of course, it helped that he started off with clothed shots and then progressed to taking off layers, so I had time to get used to the clicking, flashing and lights. It is light and sound that can cause anxiety in me, not showing off my body (though I refuse to wear tarty/skimpy outfits even to go clubbing; there is only a certain amount of skin I will show and looking sexy doesn’t mean a micromini with no tights or boobs nearly falling out of your top). So, I’m not Snog, Marry, Avoid material by a long shot.
Anyway he was nice to talk to and pretty easygoing, kinda fun. He didn’t give off the rape-y vibes that some people might expect from a guy utterly obssessed with erotic images of women to the point of producing beautiful art out of it. I’m just as obssessed with erotic BDSM images of both genders, especially guys, but my art isn’t as nice as his. Anyway, he never looked at me except in a professional way and kept skin contact almost nonexistent even at golden opportunities like rearranging strawberries in my crotch. Nor would I inappropriately stare at or touch a male model if I was photographing them either, because of cultural prescriptions for my gender. Only kidding! Of course I would!! (The staring, not the harassment/molestation). There was a notable absence of leering and drooling. So I was thinking, this might work, if he wants to pay me for more stuff after this time. (I’m not saying I was expecting something bad or uncomfortable to happen, just preparing for the worst. And sometimes people don’t realise they’re making the other person uncomfortable – a comment you’d take as a compliment when clothed might feel different when you’re naked.) This was the first time anyone saw me naked.
Afterwards he spanked me which left me very confused and shocked that such pleasure could exist naturally in the world and not cost anything. I felt saddened that we pursue movies, video games and commodities when all the pleasures of Olympus can be found in being spanked. I realised I’d frittered away my life not dedicating it to the pursuit of sexual pleasure. I was dizzy with the need for sex, but I wanted a proper negotiation when I was in my right mind and able to get loadsa money for it. He paid me, including £50 extra for spanking me, and I felt so proud and sick to be so favoured by my god. (That’s not entirely serious – I don’t believe God influences every nuance of our lives; I think he watches, judges, but is noninterventionist, as anyone dying of starvation will tell you.)
Roland had this look on his face like he would fuck me right there, a pure look of lust which I found intriuging. He was talking about maybe Saturday, in his office, with implements; maybe going to a hotel room. I was contemplating whether or not he’d pay me what I wanted. I wouldn’t agree to anything without being paid, and a fair price, not like £500 or some crap. So I wasn’t about to agree to it in this post-spanking state when my powers of negotiation were weak. I also wanted to talk to him about buying the rights to my hymen. So, I was all noncommital “maybes”.
On the drive to Buccleuch Place where he dropped me off, I told him I was a virgin, and he said he’d guessed cos I’d told him I’d never been spanked. I expressed reticence towards having sex with him, just spanking (due to not being sure I wanted to and also to justify asking a high price for sex in the future).
I also took the opportunity to find out a bit more about his kinks and concluded we were a good match. I also deduced from his car and the fact he co-owns a company that he could pay me around 3k/4k. He also claimed to be thinking of buying another car, and made a further claim that it might be an Aston Martin. I was pretty much thinking, ‘this is the one! But you accepted £50 to spank you, how will you justify 3k to fuck? No, justification isn’t the thing, it’s your prerogative to set the price. But nobody will pay that! He can! But he won’t! He will if you convince him to, just don’t act desperate! I’m not! He’s a good choice, though; well educated, and he won’t risk his success by forcing you to do anything. And he did well in the trial run, he didn’t try anything during the spanking and he stopped when you asked him to.And you like him.He’s mine. Just don’t go lower than 2.5k, not any lower than that; we want 3k or 4k. So don’t act desperate, play it cool. He’s mine! He’s mine! He’s mine!‘
It’s amazing I could talk with all that going on in my head.By the time he dropped me off I knew that if I wanted spanking-only prostitution I could have that with him; and I wanted it. But as for selling my virginity I wanted that too and I hoped my reticence over sex would pay off (literally) later.
I was feeling lightheaded as I walked into the uni library. I don’t usually feel any emotions apart from happiness, which is a constant, but the euphoria of pride, elation and hope that percolated in my blood was as potent as any drug. I thought I might vomit from happiness, it was so intense.