RSS

Tag Archives: models

Rolandanny

I just applied online for a provisional driving license, just before midnight. I didn’t get one before as I know 5 people who either couldn’t afford regular lessons and therefore have never taken the test despite having had their provisional for 2 or 3 years, and any skills they learned are now rusty, or who did pass their test but with little opportunity to borrow siblings’ and parents’ cars and so have had very little practice and are now nervous drivers. But I’ll have a career soon, so it seems like the right time now.

With relevance to this blog, when we were driving to Newcastle Roland we were talking about me not having a provisional licence/going to get one soon, and he said I should get one and I’m like, yeah, I will soon. Then I went, “If I get a provisional, can I drive this car?”

“Ummmmm….no,” said Roland, grinning, “Next you’ll be saying ‘If I get a provisional will you get me a Ferrari’!”

Heh. He’s cuddly because he’s fat ūüôā I like him more now ūüôā

I think I should not have pranked him; he’s a real human being with feelings, not my sex toy slash ATM machine. And old people have feelings too.

Anyway, I was watching the modelling and walking around, taking photos of his bank statement and one of the studio to put on the blog. Roland came over to where I was on the bench and said it wouldn’t be long. He put his camera on the bench and I tried to look at the photos he’d taken of me – this was before he took photos of the models – but he came over and took it back; I think he was afraid I’d accidentally delete them or drop the camera…but if he’s rich it wouldn’t matter if the camera got broken, so I bet it was the photos. He asked if I was texting my friends “that you’ve been abducted”, and I giggled and said no as I didn’t want a repeat of the ‘suicide’ thing.

“So what are you texting?”

“I’m not texting now,” I replied,”I’m just taking pictures of the Luxor bank statement.”

“And what makes you think that was Luxor?” he said with a devilish grin.

“Because you drew out ¬£500, so it’s an account you control,” I said.

He smirked but didn’t have anything to say to this.

Towards the end of the shoot, he tied the models to each other with bondage rope and took lots of photos.

“I can’t believe you would tie two people together,” I said, for dramatic effect. The models were my audience. “I can’t believe you’d do that.”

Later, as the shoot wound to a close, Roland/Danny slapped my bum as I walked over to the bench. The models totally saw it; they were at the other side of the room, behind him, but they were looking at us. I dunno if Danny knew that or not. Maybe he didn’t care. He told me in the Tower that he doesn’t care what anyone else thinks of him. Actually, he’s told me that a few times. It’s an admirable attitude in today’s commercialized and socially-policed world, where trivial choices cause deep cultural divides and political rifts, and we’re all incessantly worried about what others think of us, a trait exploited by corporations sending us to the clothing stores and makeup aisles in our droves.

Roland paid them Р£100 each I think Рon top of hiring the studio. Danny told them he had to get back to his other job.

“Yeah, your wee, unimportant¬†job on the side,” I said.

We said our goodbyes to Valerie and Daphne outside the studio.

“You still have to pay me for the photo shoot last night,” I said, for the sole reason of it being a delicious thrill to say this in front of Valerie and Daphne, who were still near enough to hear it.

A minute later I told him how thrilling it was to call him Danny and say those things. I said he forgot to lie about us being in Newcastle yesterday.

“Yeah, I forgot to lie.¬† Itold the truth,” he said. Hilarious. And the man has a PhD and all.

He asked me what I’d been doing with the photos I’d taken of the shoot – though actually I’d only taken one photo, not showing either him or the models, which you can see on Twitter.

“I thought you’d been tweeting photos the whole time,” he said. (Well, I did now!)

I said I would never take photos of him and put them on the internet because he could be identified. And generally I get people’s permission before taking photos and before posting them online. I have never secretly taken photos of anyone, nor posted photos to Facebook of people who weren’t my friends or acquaintances.

“Why did you think that?” I asked.

“Because you’re you,” he said, smiling.

I said, “You think me capable of anything.”

“I know you are.”

It’s probably good that I’ve kept my darkest fantasies hidden from him, then. I won’t reveal them to him until I’ve gained his trust and understand his personality more so I can manipulate him into acquiesance. Sometimes quite honestly I fear for him; I like him, and I would never want to see him get hurt by my depravity. And of course he is Magda’s property and I would no more damage another woman’s possessions than I would wreck her house or rip up her bag or clothes.

However, I am restraining myself a lot for the moment; that’s why I didn’t bring any other toys the last time apart from the bodystocking, anal beads, knife and needles. I have thought of a way to combine mental and physical torture, but I won’t ever do it; I don’t want to scare him off. I will be a good, doccile prostitute.

I think the hardest part of prostitution is pleasing the client and not (necessarily) yourself; taking care of his/her/their needs and not yours. That’s what makes it work, not leisure.

We went to Frankie and Benny’s – Americanized ‘Italian’ food.

 

Tags: , , , , , ,

Someone else gets photographed nude by Roland for a change

It was cold in the multi-storey car park; I had the black fake leather crop jacket over the red jumpsuit. The purity ring was turned round on my finger and I had black dolly shoes on. To think we were in Edinburgh such a short time ago, drinking sweet coffee, and now we were across the border in Newcastle. That’s why I love travelling; even travelling relatively short distances, as in this case, is nice. I’d read the directions well despite feeling dizzy from lack of sleep.

While driving, I’d suggested that instead of fining people for speeding, the police should spank people instead because that’s less upsetting than being fined or having your license taken away. And they could make it a choice – a ticket or a spanking. Although, I added, in my case it would not really be a deterrent.

“I think you would speed just to get spanked,” Roland said with certainty. “‘This is the forty-second time this month, Miss Gold, that you have taken a spanking!'”

Roland came back from paying the meter and wow did he look more ugly when he wasn’t talking about spanking or semi-nude or giving a spanking. I was pretty awed at the power of my brain chemicals to make me see him as less ugly when I was aroused. I realised I’d have to make him talk about spanking again soon if this day out in Newcastle was going to be in any way visually bearable.

He was smiling as he came back.He’s always smiling, like me. It’s slightly weird; now I know why people say my constant smiling is weird. I also notice that he smiles every time he sees me or looks at me (if he’s been looking in another direction first). Perhaps that’s because he’s mentally undressing me.

Anyway as he came towards me I was all, I did THAT last night? God. I mean, yeah, he’s okay looking and looks younger than he is, but still…THAT?? How on earth could I…Oh yeah, ¬£1,000. Cool.

Which reminds me that on the drive down, the radio said that one dumb celeb or another had spent $1,000 on his girlfriend in one night, and with the usual irritated envy I instantly went that’s so not fair, how does anyone get 1k spent on her in a night, etc, but then I remembered that I had! And it was ¬£1k, not $1k, which is more like a bit over ¬£500! I was pleased! Even though I had to earn it, unlike her. Roland seemed amused by all this. The drive had been fun and I felt relaxed with him by this stage in the transaction – actually, it seems like I’ve always been relaxed and never embarrassed or nervous around him. He gets slightly¬†embarrassed occassionally, though he hides it really well. I’m utterly incapable of feeling embarrassed around him; dunno why. It all feels so natural. Anyway, on the drive we were singing along to the radio and chatting about stuff, or trying to guess the answers to radio quizzes.

So, we were in the street in Newcastle and I was cold. I was delightedly happy. It was like espionage; I was supposed to be sleeping at Kelly’s flat in Edinburgh and here I was wide awake¬†in England with a pervert.

I was hungry but Roland said we didn’t have time to eat; dunno why I couldn’t just have bought some chocolate and juice, though.

At a street corner, I goes “I know where you live, I know your address now. So I could tell the papers if you didn’t pay the ¬£8,000. That would be naughty, wouldn’t it?”

“That would be blackmail,” he said, “And that would be bad, not naughty. And bad girls don’t get spanked, they go to jail.”

We got to the place eventually and a guy came out and said “Just the two of you?” and took us up in a lift. When we got out he told us we couldn’t use the lift unless he was with us’ there was a sign to that effect. I realised I was trapped here with Roland. This really was like an abduction (we’d joked in the car about him abducting me to Newcastle).

We’d agreed on a story to tell the two models about why I was there – that I was at a shoot with Ro the previous night in Newcastle and missed the bus. I was introduced to the two models, who were good looking but not as pretty as me, and they must’ve worked with him before because they greeted him calling him “Danny” which is a name he uses for his photography so people can’t Google his name easily.I suspect he¬†rents the studio under this name, too; they probably wouldn’t need to see ID. I’m not going to describe the models as they were dropped unwittingly into this adventure/blog/story. It was a thrill remembering to call Roland ‘Danny’¬†all the time as we chatted with the models.¬†One of them made us coffee.¬†Roland started setting up for the shoot; I helped. I thought he was carrying a whole brick wall which really surprised and confused me, until he said it was polystyrene.

Then he started taking test photos and made me stand there so he could take more test photos. Then I got talking to one of the models – let’s call her¬†Valerie – and she was really nice. We talked about how schoolgirls and the general public think of modelling as glamourous, but it involves a lot of waiting around. I learned that she goes on tours around the UK, modelling in a few towns; she does it on the side while the other model, Daphne, does it professionally; they often tour together. She asked about me; I said that I was a student who modelled sporadically on the side and I had little real experience. She asked if I’d worked with Danny before and we were talking about him, and she said he was one of the nice ones who was good to work with, because very occassionally you’d get men who were looking at or touching you inappropriately and then you wouldn’t model well; one time she just left. She said she really liked working with Danny and had done a few photoshoots with him, as had Daphne. She asked me about the last time I’d worked with Danny, and I said it’d been yesterday evening in¬†Newcastle but the shoot had gone on a little longer and –

“I did a photoshoot with her in Edinburgh,” Roland/Danny said hurriedly, clasping a huge silver-foiled disc, “I¬†was just telling¬†Daphne,” he added, for my¬†benefit, “But¬†Kali missed the bus and I couldn’t get her home at the right time for her so I said she could just come here and I’d drop her off on the way back.”

It was pretty obvious it was a lie.

Then the girls stripped naked and Roland started the photography. I sat with my legs up on a bench, listening to music and eating a Milky Way Crispy Rolls¬†that I’d bought in the student shop shortly before Roland pulled up in Buccleuch Place. They made amazing shapes and I appreciated how light and shadow as well as angles of the body work and combine in photography. Roland was right that I don’t have small breasts and that most models hardly have any – these two didn’t have any. They were very slender, though. I tried to work out if they were skinnier than me but gave up; I didn’t want to distract or stress them by looking. Like the bigshot models, they had athletic/straight up and down/boyish builds, not an hourglass figure like me. It makes sense – though hourglass is the best figure and the easiest to dress as you can wear anything, if it’s on the catwalk then athletic builds look better; the clothes hang off them better.

I wanted to go and buy some crisps or a burger but I was worried I wouldn’t find my way back especially in my sleep-deprived state. And I didn’t want to ask the guy to accompany me in the lift. I felt quite content with my back and a bit of my side against the wall(s), feet stretched in front of me on the bench, listening to songs; probably I was sleepy. Roland asked if I was okay a couple of times. I told him I was. The way he looked at me whenever he glanced in my direction, with that smile of his, I’m sure the models would’ve suspected something if they’d seen it, though I don’t know if they saw it or not.

 

 

Tags: , , , , , , ,

Summary of what happened

We went to a cafe and Roland looked less disgusting and more attractive this time, also less fat.

Roland said I’m a psychopath and a very happy person.

I found out he is a millionaire and he gave me a statement of one of his accounts showing 1.6 million which I’ll upload in redacted form here (in another post)¬†and to Facebook.

We did another photoshoot in his studio involving oral (me recieving), a vibrator and the whipped cream I bought from the student shop while waiting for him to turn up;

At 7pm we went to his house where he spanked me for a long time with different implements (hand, wooden spoon, hairbrush, flogger, paddle, cane)¬†and forced me to give him a blowjob; I tried to run away but he caught me so I had no choice but to use the strawberry and cream flavoured sauce I’d got in case of this worst case scenario. So at least it tasted good.

I tried to use the knife and needles I’d brought but he didn’t trust me to pierce his cock; instead, he did it, trying to draw blood that I could suck (as per my intentions). This was unsuccessful. So I used a firelighter to heat up a fork instead, which was a bit too sucessful.

He caned me and then let me cane him, but only too strokes because he said I did it “very hard” though I would call it mild. But I am more of a domme than a sub.

What happened next? How did he end up ‘abducting’ me to¬†Newcastle at 5:45am¬†the next morning? What other stuff happened and how did we feel about it, what did we say etc? And how did he end up paying me and dropping me off in the small area/town that I live, where I could potentially be seen with him and getting out of his car when I was supposed to be somewhere else? WHAT MADNESS WAS THIS?!!I’d LOVE LOVE LOVE to write it now but I’m tired, and I still hurt from yesterday thanks to him. I can’t even guarantee that the ‘highlights’ I just gave you were the most dramatic, surprising or important bits; so many weird dramatic things happened, like me holding a knife to his neck, or the handcuffs wrestling where I squirted him in the face with the cream and in his mouth so he had to eat it…heh. And learning what would’ve happened if I’d told him my tuition fees were 12k, our plans for taking my virginity, his Chastity theory about me, calling Roland by his fake name for three hours as two models got naked,¬†and a load of other stuff, like lying to our families (and others) about where we were, as well as the other sexual stuff we did. I discovered a lot about myself. I think Roland did, too.

 

 

 

Tags: , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , , ,