We didn’t get caught, which was a shame because I bet Roland, millionaire businessman that he is, would’ve still gone as red as a little boy when caught taking shots up some girl’s pussy. Bet he would. And I could be all, ‘Help, he exploited me! He lured me here under false pretences with promises of taking clothed photos and building up a portfolio and making me a proper model!’
On an unrelated note, someone who read this blog has told me that my writing is really good. I don’t think it is, but a few people have said this. However, I can’t help but notice that my writing goes off on tangents -like this one – and isn’t very descriptive of, say, the studio, restaurants, etc. Anyway, I’m very flattered to be told this by someone who isn’t my friend in real life (because their opinions would be biased in my favour, and a couple of them have read my stories and poems which are better than this blog.)
I suggested he squirt the cream on – as Roland said, because I didn’t use the word and he (maybe) thinks I can’t talk dirty – “your pussy” (said with relish, like a naughty spankable company director) and lick it off. Which he did, though it didn’t bring me to orgasm. Was good, though. He made me wriggle and squirm and moan, though sometimes the feeling was too powerful or painful – but mostly really good, better than last time in his office even.
He went on for a long time, long after all the cream was gone (idea for a product: low calorie sex cream, “Be a whore! You won’t get fat no matter how many people you do!”) and watched me intently the whole time. Then he stopped.
I was lying on my back, worrying about the cleanliness of the floor – which wasn’t very clean – anyway, Roland blindfolded me. He asked first, which was nice. He’s a good boy.
Then he put handcuffs on me. “Now, those are locked and I’ve got the key,” he said.
I could not believe I was actually lying naked on the floor of a possibly unlocked studio while a richguy had the key to the handcuffs – I don’t trust rich people, especially millionaires.
He wrote ‘whore’ on my chest with red crayon. Then he snapped some pics and, after a bit, my eyes adjusted to the blindfold and I could see him clearly. My vision isn’t good, but I have great night vision, so maybe that helped.
I giggled and said “I can see you.” He rearranged my blindfold but my eyes adjusted to it again in a little while. Roland took lots of pics, then he removed the blindfold, though this didn’t make a big difference to what I could see by this time. I said, “If you put the key in my mouth I could probably unlock them [the handcuffs].” Roland smiled. “Actually, they just pop open,” he said, pressing a button on the side, “you could’ve opened them yourself the whole time.”
That made me giggle. “You lied!”