Rebecca's Morning After

Then the stranger started tipping to the side, and I steadied him over me.

"Stop moving, cunt," he said.

"I'm trying to help you," I said, "and don't call me a cunt."

He grabbed my breasts and leered down at me. "What about 'whore'?"

"No!" I said. With my hands on his ass, I guided him up on me. His half-erect cock slapped my stomach, and his balls rested against my panty-covered mound. He had to release my breasts, and he wrapped his arms around my torso, bringing his face to my chest.

He gnawed at them, mumbling, "Whore, whore, whore..."

I sent a look at Kevin, who was no help: He gave me a thumbs-up. "Good expressions! Try to keep that sort of sad anger thing going. Like you're loathing this. Jay-Jay, leave a little space over her body, will you?"

To tell the truth, it wasn't so hard to project loathing. "Jay-Jay" wasn't my type to start with -- flabby, pale, and definitely unwashed. His over-enthusiastic mouth worked its way up my chest and neck, leaving a trail of saliva glinting everywhere it went. Not photogenic. I stopped it the only way I could think of. Grabbing him by the ears, I moved him to my mouth, where he immediately fastened on my lips.

"Move your hands!" Kevin said sharply, "you're blocking his face."

I let go, and Jay-Jay mostly managed to make do. He was rocking from side to side, his eyes unfocused and even pointing in different directions. Boy was he drunk. I had to crane my neck to keep my mouth on his. And if I hadn't done that, he would've been kissing air because it seemed like it didn't matter if I was there. As it was, I just kept my mouth open and followed him around.

And he was reaming it. Chewing my lips, licking my cheeks, bodily lapping in my mouth. Before long the lower half of my face was slick with his saliva. During this forever-seeming interlude, Kevin snapped one of my favorite pictures.

In the photo, if you can get past my splayed legs and my nipples on his chest, and the pussy lips sticking out past the wet panties -- and not many college guys usually can get past that -- and if you can wrap your mind around the artistic disjunct of my solid body, with my cut abs, and Jay-Jay's pillowy flesh, you'll see what I like about the picture.

In it, my mouth is open to his tongue, but my eyebrows are gathered and my eyes are angry and piercing. Kevin's professor also pointed this out during class -- my mouth "is a welcoming receptacle," but my eyes are solid disgust. I was in the class that day, like I often am for Kevin's projects, and the professor seemed to look at me with a real respect.

The professor also seemed to evaluate my figure under the short silk jumpsuit I was wearing that day. Now I think he may ask me to pose too. That's the whole point of my loose, comfortable outfits -- they don't hide secrets, and you never know when you'll pass a photographer on the street. So, yeah, in that way they're sort of an invitation. In the mornings, when I dress, I think to myself: "If a guy really wants to see me, will he be able to?"

Eventually I stopped caring about the mouth-stuff. It became a background botheration, like Todd's knee in my side, or his hand creeping in to fondle my chest.

I stopped caring because I finally had my pressure. Jay-Jay's lower torso was grinding between my legs, sending waves of feeling up to my stomach. Flashes of pleasure alternated quickly with jolts of pain. At times it felt like he was digging at my panties with his cock. I kept forgetting my light and my face, as I winced and gasped alternately.

"Man, this is surreal," said Todd, who was now propped up on his elbow next to me. He was tugging at my nipples with his free hand. "Jay-Jay is, like, mauling her."

Jay-Jay paused, breathing hard in my face. "Hey, I'm on the clock. And when am I gonna get a fashion model again, huh?"

Todd shrugged. "This isn't sex, it's an animal attack." Only my 'professional demeanor' kept me from kissing Todd's cheek. But then he ruined it, adding, "And you might get a chance the next time Rebecca drinks. Ha!"

But Jay-Jay wasn't listening, he was talking: "I mean,every assignment, Kevin puts this chick up on the wall, twelve feet high. Her tight puckered ass, her fuckin' slammin' body, her huge tits that point straight out."

"I don't need a bra," I told him. It was true; boyfriends had been telling me this since high school. And non-boyfriends, but that was usually unsolicited advice.

"Sure, baby," he said. "No way in hell should you be wearing a bra,ever. And this chick is always there,in class, or waiting for him afterwards, andeverybody is checking her out. She's in some fuckin' flip skirt and six inch clogs, andnever any top that keeps her tits in. Never a top that stays up, or doesn't flap open, doesn't get poked by her nips, or doesn't stretch into... erm... see-thru-ness. One day I pass her in the street, and she's in this black sweater thing, stretched so tight, I swear her nipples were sticking through the yarn."

I had a black sweater that was like a wife-beater, but nobody had ever complained about it being too tight across my chest.

His crotch started grinding mine as he spoke. He was up on his arms now, staring down at my wetted, open mouth and my tits as I listened with sick fascination. The camera forgotten, his eyes were all over me, talking himself into harder and more urgent pushes. I wondered how it could possibly be, that what he was seeing matched what I was.

"And then, like a dream," he continued, "there she is on the sidewalk at 2a.m., making a scene. Her tits popping out of her lingerie top, her little skirt unzipped and sliding down her legs. Yelling about how she's going to suck someone's dick. Cum, one dollar a swallow. And out of all the people gathering to watch, she dragsme into the cab. And she's fuckin' throwing her clothes out the window, up in the front seat with the cab driver. And she's letting him cop feels off her. And she's riding his hand with her face stuck through the opening, telling me to put my fingers in her mouth..."

He started to say something more, but then his mind seemed to slide back down his body to his cock. His member, now very hard, was nestled between the lips of my pussy -- on the far side of my panties, thank goodness. But every time he moved we could hear the wet sop, sop, of my sex, and my panties, loose, wet and stretched, were letting my pussy seem to reach out and grab at him.

He threw his head back, gave a few galvanic thrusts. I felt his cum hitting my belly, hot sprinkles that soon slicked from my belly button to the top of my mound. Kevin's camera running hot, I came just from the mere pressure of this guy on my clit. I tried to hide it, wanting to remain professional, but I heard my low squeal as if from the next room.

When I could think again, I remembered what Jay-Jay had said about putting his fingers in my mouth.That was a pose I hadn't thought of. But I'd use it next time.

Kevin snapped a few more pictures as Jay-Jay pulled off me. He took one final look at my sweaty, disheveled body on the tan sheets -- Kevin's picture showed my dark tan, and the contrast of the cum on my stomach. I was, in every area, wet -- from the sweat beading my skin, to my slicked down hair, to the saliva on my face and neck, to the cum, to the wet panties.

Jay-Jay seemed to shake himself. "Sorry about that," he mumbled. He pulled on his pants, ignoring his underwear, and cast around for his shoes and shirt.

"It's okay, really," I told him. I watched him leave the room, almost running. "Poor guy.That won't be in your project."

Kevin shrugged vaguely. "Maybe we can do a book, all about you. I know the other prints I've done are selling fast enough."

I thought how good that would be for my career -- a whole book aboutme! But then I felt guilty about being so mercenary. "Whatever you think is fine."

Then Todd rolled off the bed quickly. I thought he was queasy about Jay-Jay's fluids all over me, but no -- "You have an audience."

Safely away from the bed, he jerked his thumb at the window. There, leaning through the far window, were three high-school guys with awestruck expressions on their faces.

"Shit," I said, suddenly annoyed. I stood and gave them ahello, dorks wave, but they weren't ashamed enough to move on. I tried to ignore them. "Did we do good, Kevin?"

Kevin was shooting the last of his film at me. "Oh, yes. I had no idea it would be as good as this. I didn't have high hopes for this film."

"You should know better," said Todd. "Rebecca always delivers."

"Thanks," I said. I glanced down at the mess on my belly and saw that my panties were covered in Jay-Jay's stuff, dripping downward from gravity. A little disturbed, I pulled my panties down and let them fall, kicking them over to one of Todd's trash piles. Then I had a new problem with the cum running into my pussy, so I was trying to spread it around where it could dry more evenly. At that point, the high-school guys, overcome by all this, cheered through the window.

"You're so immature" I told them. When that had no effect, I flicked them off. "What am Isupposed do do with this cum? You better not be here when I come back." Guys like that make me appreciate Kevin all the more, and even Todd, I guess.

Post-shoot I walked into the kitchen. I wasn't thinking about getting clothes -- no, something much more important. I wanted coffee.

It's often like that, for a model doing photo shoots. The self-consciousness is at the beginning, but by the end you can stay naked and hardly care. There were times, after Kevin's shoots, that I didn't ever get dressed again. And we'd sit around in the main room, with his roommates and friends, or even the models, and we'd drink into the night.

One time, people started coming over for an impromptu gathering, and I was too tired to move from the floor. I just pulled up my panties because I thought my pussy looked too red and swollen from the shoot. And the whole night I just let them step over me, or sit beside me and poke at the love bites and carpet burns I had all over.

Even then, I would have put on a t-shirt, but Kevin had whispered he might do more pictures. With so many male "models," he didn't know when we'd have another scene like that, almost a "crowd" situation. So the night got a little raunchy and silly, with me taking and allowing some liberties I normally wouldn't have, except that Todd kept bringing me drinks.

I kept trying stuff to see anything would spark Kevin's interest: Body shots, writing words on me with eyeliner pencil, acting really drunk. We finally played the game, "7 Minutes In Heaven," where you go into the closet with somebody, and anything goes for seven minutes. Except we laughingly renamed it to "10 Minutes On Rebecca," and we played it in the middle of the floor.That got Kevin interested, and he finally got his camera out.

One of the guys from that first night was a web master, and he is now building a website to show the pictures. They all said they'd share the money, whomever was in the pictures with me, provided that internet people would actually pay to see the pictures. And for me, I would get lots of professional exposure for my portfolio. I thought that was fair, because male models never have a chance to make money.

The first Friday of every month we do more pictures. So there must be hundreds now, waiting to go online. These pictures are very avant garde, if you understand, and the scenes get very real sometimes. By that I mean, more often than not, my co-models cum on me -- I just roll my eyes at Kevin, but I don't say anything to make them feel bad. Professional models wouldn't lose control like that.

But now that I'd confided my for-money fantasy with Kevin, I realized, I could start taking that cum in my mouth. Kevin always wanted that for his portfolio, but I always pulled away at the last minute and took it on my face. I grinned a little, thinking about being able to surprise Kevin.

And since I have an imagination, I also thought: Maybe I should confess my "naked in a crowd" fantasy, or my "bachelor party" fantasy, my "blindfolded-strangerfuck" fantasy, my "glory hole" fantasy, my "triple-X theater" fantasy, my "crowd-grope Mardi Gras" fantasy...nah. I decided to keep those for the future. Doing blow-jobs for money would be more than enough to keep us busy for a while. Consider that less than two months ago, I'd never done a nude photo shoot! And now I'm a model who has to deal with cum on her stomach -- I'll bet there are not many top models who can say that.

The third roommate I was brewing coffee, when I noticed Ameet in the living room. He was staring at me fixedly, probably shocked out of his mind. He was always working or studying, so we didn't know each other very well. If I tried hard enough, I could imagine what he was going through -- here was his roommate's girlfriend, normally just a friendly, anonymous face, but now worn out, hung over, cum-spattered, and totally naked. Wouldn't anybody be a little curious? And what better chance for me to get to know him?

As he watched me fiddle with the coffee, I was thinking hard. I felt it was important to establish that he shouldn't be embarrassed. Nah... that was just an excuse. The last thing I wanted now was a serious talk, or to make inane excuses for myself, or doanything at all except drink coffee. Mostly, I didn't want to have to go find some clothes ugly boy-clothes to put on, and I certainly didn't want to run shrieking out of the kitchen, fake-surprised. I decided to see how cool he could be with nudity (some people are prudes), and so I pretended I wasn't naked.

"Hey, Ameet," I said, walking in. "You're already studying? In the morning?"

It took a moment for him to find his voice. "It's one o'clock in the afternoon."

"Oh, shit," I laughed. I perched on the couch beside him, careful with the cum on my body. "We were out partying late last night."

"I know, I heard you fucking that guy in Todd's room, for the porn site." He didn't say it meanly, it was just matter of fact. I didn't bother to explain what was really going on.

I glanced at the coffee table and saw piles of glossy photos. "Whoa, these are Kevin's pictures!"

"Yes, they were all spread out this morning, when I started to work. I hope you don't mind, I sorted them into the different shoots."

I nodded, "That's the way they should be. I guess Kevin was showing them to somebody again. Did you see them?"

I glanced at him, and he slowly dragged his eyes off my chest and nodded. "I like these the best," he said, tapping one of the piles. "The other ones are hot, especially the ones where all the guys are lined up... but these are actually beautiful."

He'd picked up one of Kevin's first projects, from before we were comfortable with each other. I remembered that night well.

Flashback: My first photo shoot with Kevin We had just started working together. I'd pulled Kevin's phone number off the bulletin board, he had a posting up about how he needed "avant garde" models for "edgy" pictures. I had been amused and a little turned on to hear about what Kevin wanted models for. All sorts of compromising situations, which werenot what an incoming freshman, new to New York, would do.

I told Kevin that maybe he should get someone older, more world-wise. He said he didn't have a lot of options, and so I told himexactly how far I would go. Our goals overlapped a little, but not much. He said he was happy just to get a chance at me... it turned out he'd noticed me around campus. And, as it turned out, I went alot farther than I said I would.

I'm a careful girl, so I met him at a well-populated dorm party. Only he was a little late, and guys kept on getting me drinks. I was feeling no pain when, after a much-interrupted conversation, we decided to do the first shootthat night. He had me snag a guy on the way out, and we went to the guy's dorm room.

The idiot guy almost blew the deal for me. As we staggered down the hall, Kevin was walking behind us with a judging look on his face. The guy kept talking about how he'd "do" me, how he'd heard I was "good at" this-and-that. I don't even think he realized Kevin was with us. I kept trying to explain how it was not about "doing me hard," but rather that we had to do exactly what Kevin told us, so Kevin could get the shots that he wanted. I was using a theatrical whisper, to make sure Kevin knew I was on board with the plan.

And as it turned out, I was a lot less drunk than the dork with his hands all over me. Kevin stopped us when the dorm room door was open, and had us do what he called a "slow peel" in the hall. It wasme Kevin gave instructions to, as we tried to portray some tension in the representation of foreplay. I remember how it really was -- basically like a genial struggle between two drunks, him unbuttoning, unzipping and even tearing my clothes, and me trying to slow him down.

Only Kevin with his camera kept the scene from being totally humiliating, as passers-by paused to offer suggestions. It was ashoot, I hadthat, at least, to protect my dignity. And the pictures turned out great -- they captured the desperate, devil-may-care urgency of a drunken college hook-up, as if that was what had happened.

I was quite relieved when we finally got into the dorm. My shirt was at my chin, my skirt was at my knees -- it was high time to move it out of the bright lights and crowds of the hallway. Inside, the dork finished stripping me and threw me on the bed.

"I don't think he's on the same page as us," I told Kevin.

"I know," he laughed. "He's nuts. But you're handling it really, really well."

That compliment got me through the next phase where the dork got his cock out, and I had to "artistically" roll a condom down his throbbing length. I complained that the only light we had was from the open windows, and asked Kevin to turn the lights on. That was the only artistic input I gave.

"He's not gonna strip," Kevin observed, as the dork climbed on me with his cock sticking through his fly. "Just work with it."

Believe it or not, there is a lot a model can do when she's naked, and her co-model is fully clothed. There is a lot of tension in those pictures. Eventually it got to look too much like a struggle, even in Kevin's pictures, and I parted my legs enough to let the dork in. I don't know if Kevin knew I was getting fucked, but he was very vocal about how good I looked. I was eighteen and a half at the time, and the dork was only my fortieth sex partner, but I considered it a good exchange. I know -- I can be sordid and mercenary at times. And it was a lot more pleasant than some lays I've had in the name of fun.

Afterwards, the dork got up and zipped himself in. "You were great," he said, completely without irony. "I'm gonna tell everybody at the party..." He staggered out.

Kevin was watching my face, and burst out laughing.That was when I decided I really liked him. Another guy would have been concerned or nurturing, but Kevin was on my side, laughing at how ludicrous my situation was. My anger turned into a shy smile.

"You were a real trooper," he said. He was standing up, taking his clothes off.

"Thanks," I said. "That was a difficult and very personal shoot for me to..."

"Now we're gonna do it right," he interrupted. "The camera has a thirty second timer. So you have that long for each pose."

"Um, okay," I said. I got ready for him, trying to dry the crack between my legs on the pillow, fluffing up my nipples, tensing and relaxing my muscles so they'd bulge. I felt a little queer doing something like this for ashoot, and doing it in the full light of the dorm room. I was barely into my second semester in college, and I was doing reallygrown up stuff. "Just do me one favor? Can you shut the door to the hall again? Those guys in the hallway are giving me the creeps."