Anything for Money: A Sex-For-Hire College Romance Read online

  Joseph was still confused, and RJ was staring like I’d just regurgitated a chewed-up Barbie head. Obviously, I needed to explain further. Unfortunately I was all out of words, because that’s where RJ’s photography flyer had ended.

  I settled for nodding at both of them. I nodded, praying it would work.

  It did.

  Joseph’s face suddenly cleared. His stiffness and reserve fell away like lost angel wings. “You’re talking about a porn shoot! Wild at College. Hot Party Girls. That kind of thing! A fucking porn shoot! I knew you were a porn star.”

  “No,” I said, alarmed.

  “Exactly!” RJ said. He shot me a look that said, “don’t fuck this up.”

  “Maybe?” I said.

  Suddenly, I had an 18-year-old freshman pressed against me. He had me in a full-body clinch, with his lips nuzzling my neck. I shrugged helplessly at RJ, who took the signed clipboard back and grinned at me.

  Bad Rebecca thought this was funny, a funny turn-on. For her part, Good Rebecca was relieved that the delicate explanatory part of the modeling session was over, and the real work of modeling could begin. Hello, first artsy photos for my professional portfolio!

  Joshua’s hands slid down and grasped my ass.

  I squeaked.

  When I found my voice again, I said, “Shouldn’t we go somewhere?”

  RJ grinned salaciously and lifted the camera to his eye. “Nah, the hallway is good.”

  “Fuck yeah,” Joseph said.

  Our First Shoot

  My first photo shoot with RJ started like an octopus-wrestling match. It pretty much finished that way, too.

  We were in the hallway outside the crowded common room on the first floor of the dorm, with streams of students coming and going. It was barely dark outside and I was already accidentally drunk, far ahead of schedule.

  *Click*

  The first picture turned out to be one of my favorites. When you see it, you immediately understand the vibe RJ is going for.

  The camera caught me with my head thrown back, nervous confusion in my eyes. Joseph was wrapped around me like a layer of body paint, and my earlobe was in his teeth. My dress, what there was to see of it, was all different colors, ruffled where Joseph’s eight hands grabbed, petted, and squeezed me.

  My lips, with their bright red lipstick, were parted as if I was gasping. Really, the picture caught me in the middle of asking a question.

  “Joseph, are you—” I broke off when he planted a kiss on my lips. I hadn’t even started modeling yet! “Are you okay with this?”

  “You kidding?” He kissed me again, vigorously but too quickly. I kissed back, tilting my chin to get the good light through the window, but he pulled away before RJ got the picture. He’d have to slow down if this modeling thing was going to work. Joseph continued, “I knew something like this would happen. Maybe I’m psychic. I knew when I came to college, I’d be in one of those wild girls videos. It’s like a rite of passage, you know.”

  “Okay, whatever.” I caught his face again, and steered his lips back to mine. His frenzy slowed as I taught him how to properly kiss.

  *Click* *Click* *Click*

  The photographs showed how naturally I found good angles and good light. My lips were so red against his. My lashes so detailed, my mascara so on fleek. I truly looked like a sex-bunny—RJ’s term, not mine—compared to the disheveled and average-looking Joseph.

  Was this what I looked like, when I dressed up and flirted with freshman boys?

  Joseph paused to breathe heavily in my ear. “Oh, also—everybody told me about the Rebecca on the third floor of the dorm, but I didn’t believe them.”

  “That’s a different Rebecca,” I said quickly.

  I glanced at RJ, but he was only shooting and grinning.

  “Fuck, I need to meet her, too,” Joseph said. He caught my mouth again, his lips working energetically until I slowed them down and lingered. His tongue brushed mine and I teased it into my mouth.

  *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click*

  RJ was good, really good. The photographs are gritty and realistic. That’s great for a natural look, and for generating a feeling of immediacy, but it also turns even the prettiest models into freckled cows with visible wrinkles around their eyes and mouths. Not with RJ’s photos. I looked pristine, beautiful, and smooth, with flawless skin, as I went to town on Joseph’s tongue. Though Joseph was trying to climb me like a spider monkey, the pictures showed me as the aggressor. I was a perfect, drop-dead gorgeous slut for Joseph. My red-lined mouth, its lipstick now smeared across my cheek, was open to him in every picture, questing toward his lips like a hungry baby bird that can’t get enough.

  The pictures are unbelievable. That wasn’t me. That couldn’t be me.

  But there I was.

  I have a healthy self-image, but even I know I don’t look hot every minute of the day. Yet, the photographs only show me looking good. More than good. Those photographs made me into some kind of preying, voracious succubus, trying to devour an innocent college boy.

  RJ spoke up. “Joseph is covering too much of you. Break apart so we can get more of your body.”

  I peeled off of him, but he followed. He wanted to keep his pelvis against mine. The fabric of his fly rubbed against my stomach—my plunge-neck left most of my front uncovered. The outline of his cock, delineated and hard, surged against my womb like it wanted to get in.

  Soon, I had backed to the wall and couldn’t break free. Joseph still pressed against me. Okay, it was more like grinding.

  “Open some space, Rebecca,” RJ said again.

  A model has to improvise, and make things work. Everything for the product.

  With a flash of inspiration, I pressed my hips against his, and arched my back against the wall. Cold tile rested on my sweaty, damp back, but I didn’t complain. I was in complete model mode.

  My move put new pressure on Joseph’s cock, which was what he needed. Rather than wrap himself over me again, he held my hips and looked down at me. If you turn the pictures sideways, it looks like we’re lying on a tiled floor.

  *Click* *Click*

  Since I had a break from kissing, I took the moment to check my light sources and angles.

  The hall wasn’t empty.

  I’d forgotten about the rest of the world, being so focused on getting good pictures, and compensating for Joseph’s lack of experience. Students and staff walked by, most of them slowing down and staring. Some of my new friends from the party were clustered at the door to the common room, sipping from their cups and trying to seem innocent as they watched. Several other guys in the hall had even gone full stop, little knots that impeded the foot traffic past Joseph and me.

  People don’t usually stop and stare, at least in such great numbers, for regular sessions of public affection. RJ’s constant camera flashes revealed our embrace for what it was. We were working, and they were watching a real modeling session.

  I tried not to think about it, but my mind kept returning to our audience. How they were seeing me spread out in front of a random guy, his hips against mine, my 6-inch heels braced on the floor below spread legs. My lipstick smeared. My breath coming in gasps. My breasts pointed at the ceiling.

  My breasts!

  Obviously, the club dress wasn’t designed for every kind of modeling pose. The plunge-neck fabric had slipped aside, leaving my chest bare to Joseph’s eyes, and the eyes of every onlooker. I had sort of expected this. After all, I was the designer. I was the one who’d draped the fabric to flare open, to give it some zing. Everything else, like lost modesty, was the cost of doing business. Still, I couldn’t wait to wear it again: Consider everything this tiny club dress had brought me just today alone.

  I fought down my self-consciousness. Real models, working models, sometimes even have to change their clothes on location. It’s true! The first thing a real model has to sacrifice is her modesty. That would simply have to be true for me, too.

  *Click* *Click
* *Click*

  The photographs captured my breasts, and they looked fabulous and perky. Nipples hard, pointed skyward. They were the focal point of several pictures, which blurred the people in the background.

  Let them look, my mind sang. It’s part of the job.

  This was a good scene. RJ’s intensity, and his insane grin, told me we were getting great shots, better by the minute. I wasn’t about to derail everything with nonprofessional, non-sexual behavior. I wasn’t about to cover up. I was the real deal.

  I doubled down and pushed my groin against Joseph’s pelvis. Joseph escalated right back, and grabbed my breasts.

  I didn’t object. He was an amateur, he didn’t know about asking permission. I simply arched into his palms. I kept my mouth an open gasp, and tried to lift my chin into better light.

  He kneaded my breasts, which overflowed his hands. He rolled my nipples between his fingers, and—I have to confess to a minor shortcoming—my body responded to the attention. I went into a whole-body shiver. My pelvis rocked against his with growing urgency.

  Then he latched his lips on one of my tight, flushed nipples and slid it into his mouth. Between sucks, he said, “I’m going to do you so hard, Rebecca.”

  “Unbutton his shorts,” RJ instructed, clicking away.

  From any other man, it would have sounded salacious. Any other man, and I would have had to shut this session down, lest someone got the wrong idea. But RJ’s voice was cool and professional, requiring no objection: He was an artist chasing his vision.

  And he sure knew how to challenge a girl.

  Another thing I learned that day was that models have to multitask. I had to remember my light source. I had to keep my mouth open and porn-y, but not gapingly so. I had to angle my shoulders to keep Joseph’s mouth visible as he worked over my breasts. Most of all, I had to do this while maintaining the “pornography prototype” of RJ’s project, and not let the growing crowd of spectators distract me.

  Added to all of this, I now shifted both hands down to Joseph’s crotch and unbuttoned his fly.

  “Good, hold it open,” RJ said. “Right hand higher, left hand lower, so we can see into his pants.”

  Joseph’s hard cock snapped out of his shorts and thumped a good one right on the mound of my panties. I gasped, and almost cut loose with a groan. His prop-cock was still covered in his underwear, but that didn’t keep it from shifting around and throbbing like a regular uncovered cock. I couldn’t see what was going on down there, because we were a heaving tangle of torsos and limbs, and only one of us was concerned about lighting.

  Bad Rebecca wanted to ruminate over that cock, but I forced myself to think how I could use it to improve the photoshoot.

  “I’m changing positions—” I started to announce. Then I had to stop to bite my lip, as the new details and rhythms against my panties magnified every sensation.

  *Click* *Click* *Click*

  “That’s good,” RJ said.

  “Really?” I craved the approval in his voice. “More?”

  I didn’t hear his answer, because another vibration of heat and pleasure emanated from where Joseph and I connected. Shit, he was really getting in there, blurring the lines between deconstructing female sexuality and simply dry-humping me.

  *Click* *Click*

  My eyes slid over Joseph’s head, met the gaze of another guy, watching from a dozen feet away. He was one of the other freshmen I’d awed at the party. I was awe-ing him now, based on his undiverted interest, and how his hands clasped together over his crotch, like he had something to hide.

  A girl likes feedback, I thought again. I mean, a model needs feedback.

  What that guy probably didn’t know was that he could have been in Joseph’s place. Easily.

  If he’d had slightly better skin, or a different cut of hair, or worn a better shirt—or whatever ineffable, artistic criteria RJ applied while selecting my prop-guy, he could have been posing with me. He could have been the one groping my breasts like a drowning man with floaties. He could have pressed his lips against mine and eased his tongue into my mouth. He could have latched onto my nipples. It could have been his diamond-hard cock sliding against the soaked crevice between my legs.

  Heat flushed through me, but I didn’t tear my eyes away from my watcher.

  I was… I was on the verge of…

  I was on the verge of learning something about myself, as a model.

  I released a quiet groan of satisfaction, I couldn’t help it. I was so close to what I wanted to… realize.

  It could have been that boy against me, instead of Joseph. It could have been him, or the guy next to him. Or the freshman who had said all the other girls were mean. Or it could have been that older guy, leaning by the elevator with his iPhone pointed my direction—he was the nice guy on the maintenance staff who always made a point to check in on me, and see if I needed anything.

  It could have been any of them. It might be some of them in the future, depending on what RJ decided. The men were there for the taking. The most important ingredient, in all of this, was me.

  This was all about me. About me presenting a specific idea of myself. About me magnifying and portraying a particular element of my personality, my sexuality. The photos—of me—wanted to communicate that profound, gratuitous beauty of all women, when they shed everything else in a moment of passion. It was about men wanting me, and having me. All those eyes, locked on me… me.

  Full body surge.

  My heels came perilously close to losing purchase on the smooth floor. They almost slid me off balance. I accidentally de-latched Joseph’s mouth, and he looked up, bleary-eyed and hungry.

  This was my chance. I grabbed his face and pulled it to mine, using his weight to pull myself upright.

  “Nice,” RJ said. “You’re very body-aware.”

  Kissing him hard on the mouth, I used Joseph’s balance to spin him against the wall. His head cracked the brickwork but he didn’t notice.

  Still kissing, I spun like a ballerina in his arms, and pressed my ass on his cock. My chest was now free in the air, but I didn’t replace the plunge neck fabric. It didn’t feel like what the moment needed.

  My breasts were out, this was fashion modeling, blah-blah, etc. I’d explain it to anybody who asked, but I’d explain it later, not now. My tight little skirt had snapped to the top of my ass, and left me completely bare below my hips. I didn’t now how my panties were arranged; I couldn’t distinguish anything down there. I only know I felt full, and wet, and exposed.

  And so what?

  Maybe I was even a little glad for the crowd of people watching. I was killing this modeling thing. The part of me that is less than humble wanted the world to see me owning this session. This was more than just fashion, this was Paris-level fashion. Milan-level fashion. I was like that model on the catwalk, completely naked except for the crazy hat. Just google-search her. She was confident and nude and strutting and perfect and way beyond judgment.

  *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click*

  “Brilliant,” RJ muttered.

  Joseph’s hands weren’t idle. One slid around my waist and up to my chest again, to caress and tease my breasts. The other hand palmed my tight tummy. He pressed his fingertips against my tight, hot skin, and slid them down to my panties.

  RJ saw what was happening.

  “Hold that expression, Rebecca,” he ordered.

  I tried to keep the face I had. I think I succeeded. In the photographs, I’m wanton and disheveled. I look wild, hungry, angry, even a little frightened.

  *Click* *Click* *Click*

  The pictures show Joseph’s hands sliding under the elastic band of my panties. They slid down… down… down even further.

  *Click* *Click*

  The pictures show Joseph’s hand cupping my mound, inside my panties, as my eyes roll back into my head. Around us, closer than I realized, were the unfocused forms of the audience, phones held our way, fingers pointed.

  Sen
sation racked my body.

  The dizzying jolts of pleasure and pressure, the people watching, me trying to press against Joseph while he surged against me, all while keeping tenuous balance because of my ridiculous heels—all of this reminded me of riding the mechanical bull at that bar in town. I’d been a two-time record holder freshman year. They had pictures on the walls, and a video on their website.

  —No, don’t let yourself get distracted.

  Joseph’s fingers curled into my snatch. With that, I could feel precisely how wet I was. How full and hot I was. I also had some pressure to rock against—I mean, to pose against.

  “Tilt back and kiss him while he fingers you,” RJ ordered.

  “Okay.” I was glad to have a new idea.

  “And Rebecca, reach behind and get your hand down his pants.”

  “Sure,” I said.

  It was yet another challenge, but I met it square on. I tilted my chin back—no more problems with chin-shadows now!—and put my free hand behind Joseph’s head to tilt him to my mouth. Our lips met again, and our tongues crossed. Though we were kissing over my shoulder, we were getting good at it, practice makes perfect.

  With my other hand, I groped behind me and found his shirt. I dug through it with clumsy, confused movements, and eventually found his open fly. The skin of his belly was hot. I slid my nails across it and he shivered—I felt the shiver all the way down to his cock, which vibrated between the cheeks of my ass.

  It was so difficult to think, with the audience and shuffling, with RJ’s camera running hot, and, let’s face it, because of my current pose with Joseph. The pose where the front of my panties inexorably slid down my thighs, uncovering my sex to the world, while his fingers massaged my clit.

  Luckily I still had my girl-instincts. I effortlessly triangulated on his cock behind my back. Like the pro that I was, I soon had the soft skin of his sliding shaft in my hand, with my fingers wrapped around it.

  “Okay, I have him,” I sighed. “Jack? I’m holding him.”

  “Good, Rebecca.”

  *Click* *Click* *Click*

  “You know you’re blushing?” RJ said. “All across your chest and up your neck.”