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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 🙂 I like him more now 🙂

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 ÂŁ500, 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 – ÂŁ100 each I think – on 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.

 

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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.

 

 

 

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When I first met Roland

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 ÂŁ100, 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 ÂŁ50 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 ÂŁ500 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 ÂŁ50 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.

 

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