Julie trusts him, likes him a lot, but doesn’t love him. He is always gentle, caring, and considerate with her. Above all else, she trusts his cock inside her when they’re fucking for the camera. After they finish fucking, she always thanks him, kisses his sweating forehead, then thanks her female photographer, Mel. Julie insists on having a female behind the lens for all of her raunchiest shoots.
Mel blushes, smiles and says, ‘You’re welcome, Julie. You were perfect, lovely as ever, great!’
Her stud’s dripping thick sweat, ‘Are you sure you won’t join us for lunch? The game is very good.’
Julie disentangles herself from her stud and swings her slender legs off the bed. The sheet is wet, dirty, soiled. She’ll have to put a wash on after they leave. He’s right. The game, particularly the wild venison, at the exclusive appointment-only converted stables in the meadow, is excellent, a gastronomic opportunity, too good to be missed. Added to which, the restaurant is only open when there is an ‘r’ in the month, as is the case today. She hears the antique clock in the hall strike eleven, standing suddenly, painfully aware that she has yet another stud to fuck. Julie gracefully declines.
‘Thanks, stud, Mel. I can’t this time. I’m fucking someone. Someone intimately closer to my cunt.’
Mel, a stunning redhead of apparently unstained purity, feels for her glasses in her hair, casts her big brown eyes side to side gasping fake intrigue, ‘Closer to your cunt? How fucking perverted!’
‘Be patient Mel, you’ll meet him here in all his naked glory later, ready and waiting to fuck you.’
The stud pulls on his jockey shorts, studying the gorgeous woman he just fucked, he likes to think, fucked for love. He feels blessed fucking a beautiful woman like her, a class model at the peak of her profession if you can call fucking for the camera professional. Julie has a face that breaks men’s hearts. She breaks his heart if he’s honest: the prettiest bob of auburn ginger hair caressing her narrow shoulders, haunting grey eyes, her surprised look, her wide pink labial lips, puckered, kissable lips, freckles, dozens of them, smattered over her feint-tanned chest. Spread as far as her cute, round, pert little puppies, as he calls them, her greatest natural assets.
For the shoot, he undressed her, disrobed her, teasing her body in front of the window. Her tanned skin caught the warm spring sunshine as he tugged her red t-shirt off over her head. He ripped off her skinny jeans revealing her bespoke creation: orange rose lingerie made to match her gorgeous, freckled skin, her sublime tumbling hair. She let him hold her, let him press his hard ebony cock inside her, let him kiss her invasively, until she was ready. Julie revealed her most intimate charms to Mel’s prying lens, tearing off her stud’s Calvin Klein pants, climbing on him, mounting him.
Mel screws up her face in concentration, rolls her eyes, playing with the broad beige braces that, somehow, displace either side of her ample breasts. She’s wearing her white, short-sleeved shirt, pearl choker, thick rouge on her lips, brown baggy trousers: feminine combinations that meet with Julie’s approval. Another time of day, tonight maybe, she’ll invite Mel to stay, to bed, have sex.
‘I’ll tell you all the juicy news when you get back. Must get ready,’ the tarnished Julie calls, sliding into the bathroom, ‘Help yourself to coffee. I bought you hot cross buns and homemade marmalade at the village market yesterday, the butter’s in the larder. Enjoy your pheasant, stud.’
He pulled his spurting cock out of her lubricious cunt at the last moment and came all over her breasts and belly. She stands in the shower rinsing his semen off of her dusky nipples feeling no guilt or shame just a mild residual ache inside her tummy. It’s her job, her occupation, that’s all, a means to an extremely wealthy end. She washes her pubic hair, considering all the benefits of her rise to fame, a name on millions of men’s and women’s lips, a fashion icon, a catwalk model, an artist’s model, a nude model, a rising porn star.
A grateful patient at the hospital suggested Julie, an underpaid, overworked trainee nurse, take up part-time modelling to augment her pay, and treat herself to a few luxuries. She approached an agency, sent them a smart portfolio of tasty nude photos, produced by Mel, and was snapped up. The rest is history. Mel inspired her to success, cautiously at first, starting with fashion shots, alluring facial portraits, moving on to tasteful topless photos, full frontal nudes, and the inevitable porn. In little more than three years Julie, seventeen years old, quit nursing, earned a deposit on an isolated converted barn in the meadows, complete with duck pond, invested in a blue metallic Mini Cooper S Countryman with tinted windows.
By the time she’s taken her pill, dried herself, cleaned her teeth and done her face, her friend has left with the stud.
She lies on the bed, closes her eyes, and wanks her swollen cunt with her fist, teasing her clit erect with her ring finger until she’s sopping wet and ready to squirt. The doorbell rings: her next stud.
‘Just coming!’ she cries.
