Jayne’s World Pt. 19

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Jayne’s World Pt 19.

A word from Jayne.

This is a long story with numerous characters and storylines. For continuity, it’s recommended that it’s read in chronological order but each part is a standalone erotic adventure. So, whichever way you read it, I hope you enjoy my world and feel free to leave a comment; I promise to read every one.

Love

Jayne.

HIM.

After Jayne left to go back to London, I was totally confused. Although I was pretty sure that we were back together again – after all, she’d stayed with me, we’d slept together and we’d had some wonderful sex on three occasions in the less than twenty-four hours she was with me – I wasn’t at all sure what ‘back together’ really meant. Although I was relatively relaxed when she was explaining what had gone on with Lee when he’d fucked her for the photo shoot, I wasn’t at all sure how I’d feel if that became a regular feature of her modelling and thus, our future relationship.

The first time we had sex on that visit was after I met her at Leeds station mid-afternoon on the Tuesday. I’d driven her home as we chatted about the break and where we were going, and we had ended up in my bed making love. The second time was after she had posed for her modelling session, which she, at my request, had told me all about. As she did that, we lay cuddled up on the green leather Chesterfield in my conservatory, kissing and fondling each other. As she revealed more salacious details of the session with the young, mini porn star, we moved on from merely fondling to undressing each other. And then when naked, as she explained how he fucked her from behind wearing a condom, and how soaking wet she was, she laid flat on the couch, spread her legs, brought her knees up and said, ‘come on grandad fuck me now.’ And I did, long and wonderfully.

To my utter delight, I woke up in the morning feeling her breasts pressed into my back, her arms around me, and her hands holding and stroking my cock and balls as the old boy hardened reassuringly quickly. We had a fairly long session with some nice oral both ways.

Although I’m a bit of an old fart as to reading romantic, or at least relationship matters, having sex three times, sleeping together in my bed and parting with vows to see each other again soon, seemed to me to be pretty good indications that we were back to being a number. The question I mulled over as I watched her train pull out of Leeds station was just what bloody number I was?

HER.

As I sat almost alone in the long compartment on the train back to London, I was thinking that I had never had two guys fuck me in the same day before, let alone one of them doing it twice. I almost giggled when it went through my mind that the young male model, Lee, had become a fifty-five-year-old James sandwich! What was even more thought provoking and rather unsettling was that had I been so inclined, I thought I could have had the studio owner, Max, as well. I had since my sexual maturity been a bit of a slut, but it was, I was acknowledging, getting out of hand. Or was it? Maybe that’s how grown-ups behaved and now at twenty-five, I was becoming one of those. Perhaps I should conform; after all, I was a glamour model.

On the three-hour train journey back to London, the events of yesterday afternoon and evening made me think long and deeply. My thoughts ranged around my life in general, my burgeoning career as a glamour and/or porn photographic model, my ever-changing attitude towards sex and my relationships with James and my other lover Mickey.

Life generally was a bit shitty all round. After the appalling fuck up that the American banks had made of the world economy in 2008, which became known euphemistically as the credit crunch, 2010 had been a terrible year for me and my parents. They divorced, dad’s business went tits up, we lost the family home in Essex, I had no work as a freelance copywriter and they both buggered off to Spain, so I was on my own with no parents, no job, no home, no prospects and no money.

But I did have James. We’d met, well really he’d picked me up, back in 2008 when I accidentally left some photos in a developing machine outside Boots in Oxford Street. He was fifty-three at the time and since then we had built a nice relationship that had brought me some pleasure, happiness and surprisingly good sexual satisfaction.

There was also Mickey West. He and my dad had been best friends from school in the East End of London during the seventies. So I had known him all my life and had always loved him as a child loves an uncle. Since the financial crash, Mickey, who was rumoured to be one of the East End’s leading crooks, and I had become much closer. Apart from my fling – or was it now an affair – with James, who lived 200 miles away in Yorkshire, the only redeeming feature happening to me at the time was that Mickey, who had a small property ’empire’ in Bethnal Green and Mile End, let me live in one of his flats just off Roman Road.

I https://sokkan.org knew full well that he had fancied me for far more years than really he should have, so the rent for the apartment was fairly predictable: payment in kind, which he collected in my bed on the last Thursday afternoon of each month. Due to rising costs and the property market in the area recovering, or so he claimed, the rent had doubled, and now, in 2010, was collected in kind on the second and last Thursday afternoons of each month. But for that he also let me use one of his cars, a quite nice 2002 Audi Quattro.

So, to my astonishment when I thought about it, I now had two middle aged lovers. Being absolutely honest with myself, in many ways I now preferred them to the, too many perhaps, young city boys and ad industry chancers who had in the past been the more frequent visitors into my knickers.

Having sidled into the second half of my twenties cossetted by the wealth and generosity of my dad I was, I suppose, a typical Essex girl rich bitch. Not that I was wicked, overly vain, cocky or selfish, just that I liked my own way and usually got it, and I could hardly spell morals let alone understand or live by a code dictated by them. For instance, I lost my virginity quite early and by my twenty-first birthday I had been with eight different guys, all of whom were older than me, with two of them having an age gap with me of over ten years. It was only after I’d started the affair with James that I saw the significance of my earlier flings. In short, it made me realise that I preferred older, more mature men as lovers but probably not as a husband, although that was some way off in my thinking.

Of course, Mickey was married, as all the better ones are. In fact, he was very married but like many or most London East End crooks cum shady business men, that didn’t stop him having bits on the side like me. The wives of such guys knew about and accepted the situation and let it be swept under the carpet where hopefully it remained.

I was learning a lot about Mickey, but then at the time, I was learning lots about many aspects of men and sex as well. I was beginning to realise that I was out of my league with him and that James and I were more in the same one.

*

After the success that Max told me I’d achieved with the Indian guys, the group where I had gone too far, and with Lee, bookings rolled in. I had to go up to Leeds most weeks and I began travelling on a Sunday evening or Monday morning and staying until Tuesday and often Wednesday but getting back to pay my rent to Mickey on the Thursday afternoons.

I did another session with the Indians where I spent the best part of an hour with the vibrator in me, and I had one similar to the session with Lee with an older guy. Max said the video was called ‘Daddy and Me’ and boy did that bring home some memories about my real father and me! Also, there were a couple more group sessions and numerous one-to-ones. I was becoming a star, albeit in a modest way in a grubby business, but it was now well keeping the wolf from the door and my bank balance was becoming healthy.

Whilst that was becoming healthy, I wasn’t too sure that my morals, that is the ones I had which were minimal, were. In fact, I was starting to question whether I really had any as far as sex was concerned. I was posing naked, masturbating and even being fucked for the camera and continually I was getting so turned on by exposing myself to a range of men that was starting to acknowledge that I was an exhibitionist.

I was now having more sex, both full intercourse and the stimulation of being photographed, than I’d ever had. To be truthful, sex was never far from my mind, and it seemed as if my entire life was revolving around it. But I could have had more, because about half the one-to-one punters now asked for extras. Due to Max’s embargo on it, I always refused, as I knew there was CCTV in the studio that he could look at from his office and I suspected that he had it miked up as well. So I didn’t have to confront the situation as I would have had to if he turned a blind eye.

It was again on the long train journey back to more normality in London, if you can call shagging a crook to pay your rent normality, that it struck me. And it came as quite a shock when I realised that I was really using that embargo to explain why I didn’t ‘do extras’ as most called it. It was dawning on me that I didn’t decline them due to any aversion to having sex with strangers. After all, in the past I’d had a couple of one-night stands and recently I’d been with Lee and the older guy on camera, so it wasn’t a morality thing issue, whatever that is, so wtf was it? I just didn’t know.

However, it worried me, and slowly my mind focused on what the real worry was. It was clearly nothing to do with morals nor about being demeaned by guys asking to fuck me and equally it wasn’t that I felt insulted that guys thought they could buy me. After bursa eskort all, many do that, albeit in the more subtle and socially accepted ways of dating and a few drinks or meals. They tend not to ask if they can fuck a girl, but just follow the traditional schedule of firstly kissing, then touching her boobs outside her clothing, then inside her top, followed by his hands in her bra or yanking her tits out. Usually, a little oral on her tits and nipples is then the precursor to the first really big move, his hand up her skirt. If there’s no objection or, better still, if her legs open then bingo, he gets inside her knickers and he’s home and dry; well hopefully, more accurately, home and very wet!

Maybe that’s the start of a wonderful relationship, but nowadays, a few years into the twenty-first century, it’s little more than starting a friendship, and the first fuck is more akin to what the first kiss was in earlier times. It’s almost more like a detailed hello and may signify nothing more than they both enjoy sex.

No, oddly it was not the sex, not the fact that he would be a stranger, and not because the sex would be in a studio, but not Max’s at least, and certainly not because I’d probably never see the guy again. No, none of that, I realised during my train journey, gave me the biggest worry. And when I eventually worked out and accepted what that was, I was rather gobsmacked. In short, what was pissing me off was the amount of money I was, as I put it, losing by not doing it. As we pulled into Kings Cross station, I had worked out that if I just did it once a day on, say, the Sunday, Monday and Tuesday then I could probably make another three hundred quid a week on top of what I was already getting for posing. That was almost fifteen thousand a year which, together with the modelling fees, meant I’d be getting well over forty grand a year, tax free! In post credit crunch terms that was brilliant for a girl of my age who quit uni and had no obvious work skills.

But how could I do it if Max didn’t allow it? I mulled over the idea of trying to seduce him into letting me do it by paying him rent in a similar way I did to Mickey. Also, I realised that to maximise my earning potential I’d need to move to Yorkshire, but combining the extras with James and now, maybe Max, was a hell of sexual burden and I wondered if I’d be able to cope.

*

“He’s booked you again, two hours this time,” Max told me on the phone one Saturday as we were discussing the next week’s work. He was talking about a lovely young guy called Zak. He looked to be in his early thirties, although that was hard to tell as he had a fairly bushy dark beard and long unkempt hair and as far as I could tell was a throwback to the sixties and the nearest guy I knew to being a hippy.

He’d already booked me three weeks in a row and now wanted a fourth. I knew that he was attracted to me but felt that it was more on a professional than a sexual level. He was a very patient photographer and spent ages taking shots of my hands, feet and parts of my body, especially my boobs and lips, most of which I guessed were in very close up.

As usual the session went well, and as usual my nipples hardened which is something the punters love. It was the first time I had posed for anyone so many times and it was a nice feeling, almost as if we were old friends.

“I’m going to enter the shots in a competition,” he told me, so I asked if I could see them.

He showed me some on a laptop and I was surprised at how few full-length shots or even just head and shoulders, or from the waist up, there were. When I mentioned it, he told me that they were not ready for the competition yet as he had lots of work to do with them.

“Am I that bad a model?” I asked curious as to what he meant.

“No not at all, you’re perfect Jayne, but I am trying to create a particular mood and style with the set that I am calling, ‘A Touch of Pink,” he told me, going on to say,

“and on that point Jayne,” – for some reason I’d told him my real name – “may I take some of your er, um, pinkest place?”

As I was listed on Max’s website and brochures as ‘offering explicit shots,’ I, of course I knew what he meant and for some reason, looking at him and holding his gaze I said softly, “what, open leg shots, Zak?”

As I said that, he straightened up and half closed his eyes, looking aroused and interested. “Yes Jayne, very open. I want to see everything,” he replied, holding my gaze as I felt an enormous surge of arousal rush through me, which increased when he went on with, “I want to capture everything pink that you have down there. May I?”

Smiling, I replied in my usual smartarse way, “Well all in the cause of art. Of course, be my guest. Should I wear anything at all?”

“No, just the right expression with those lovely lips slightly parted, okay?” he said, watching me push down the pink panties that he’d given me with a matching pink bra and which orhangazi escort he’d asked me to wear for some shots and bring to future shoots.

“And what’s the right expression Zak?”

“No, stop there,” he blurted out as he looked into the camera. Not getting what he meant, I asked “What?”

“Leave them, the panties, leave them just above your knees so I’ll get pink on pink.”

Not really understanding what all this pink stuff was about, I did as he said.

He took a few moments to respond further then said huskily, “Maybe a ‘I want to be fucked’ look Jayne, if you can?”

“I think I can, for you,” I said in almost a whisper, adding “like this Zak?” as I lay back, raised my knees and opened my legs with the knickers around my knees, exposing my bare mound and now-soaked lips to his enquiring gaze and recording lens. Unlike most of the guys who’d used me as a model including James, Zak did not click away quickly. His style was far more measured and it seemed that he thought carefully about every aspect of his shots before taking them.

“Yes, Jayne that’s perfect. And do you?”

I moved my position slightly, but kept my legs open, as he was clearly concentrating the lens between them and on my probably glistening pussy lips. I felt my arousal growing, but didn’t reply to his question so he prompted me with, “Well Jayne, do you do extras?”

My usual reply to this oft-asked question was to just say no and not give an explanation, but for some reason with Zak I said, “Max doesn’t allow it in here.”

“How would he know?” he came back with.

“He has CCTV to his office, and maybe it’s wired up as well.”

“Oh, I see. Well actually love, I have my own small studio, so perhaps we could use that next time,” he said very pointedly.

I didn’t respond and he picked it up again when we finished. “Actually, Jayne I need to do some work on some of the shots we have in the can as it were, to get just what I need for the comp, and as I do that, I may need to retake a few shots, so would you come to my studio?”

Without thinking it through, although if I had, it would probably not have made any difference, I replied, “When?”

“Now, after we finish here, if you’re free. I think Max said that you had no other bookings, so I’d be able to overrun if I wanted, paying both him and you more of course.”

“Like to see what I have for the competition so far with Touch of Pink, Jayne?” Zak asked me less than an hour later when we were in his flat, which was a bit like where I lived, being the top floor of a large Edwardian house. Like mine it was really one big room with a couple of cubby holes off it.

“Yes ok.”

He spent some time looking through a viewfinder at the shots we’d taken on the session we’d just finished before offering me a glass of wine and saying, “I need a few more of you naked Jayne if that’s okay?”

My natural cockiness clicked in with, “sure, presumably I am getting paid?”

“Yes of course, don’t worry about that,” he said, pausing and looking at me standing next to his bed undressing, making me feel slightly and totally ridiculously embarrassed given what he’d seen of me so far, before adding, “maybe a lot more.”

After turning the rather weak lights on and taking a dozen or so shots of me sitting on the bed naked, he sat beside me and we looked at the screen on the wall. He started clicking away and I saw shot after shot, all of me, but sometimes he had merged two or three shots into one. It seemed to me to be really clever editing.

The first image was a large blow up of my right nipple that was clearly hard, followed by a couple with my fingers on my breast showing the pink nail polish he’d brought with him and asked me to apply on our second and further shoots. The next was one of my breasts and nipples, that were again erect, with my slightly parted lips on the swell of my breast with my top lip just touching the areola. It looked as if the lips were about to engulf the nipple. The next was a tight close up of me. It was from the tip of my nose to just under my nipples, the pinkness of my closed mouth and quite heavily painted lips standing out vividly. Interestingly one nipple was stunningly hard, the other undisturbed.

Then a shot came up of me looking down where I was holding my breast and lifting it a little with my fingertips sinking into the boob, the pinkness of my nails just visible in the soft flesh. The nipple was soft. That was followed by both of my tits and both of my hard nipples in a front on view. I’m holding my right breast, my pink painted nails digging into the soft flesh, my opened fingers either side of my nipple that looks to be stunningly hard. Then me lying on my front on a white floor. My legs are slightly parted and between them can be seen the pink, puffy lips of my pussy from behind. The angle of the shot seems to emphasis the round fullness of the cheeks of my bum and the depth of the cleavage between them. Then, still on the white floor on my back, legs wide open, my hands holding the cheeks of my bum, pulling them slightly apart.

“How the hell did you get these poses Zak?” I asked in astonishment as he handed me the glass of wine and said, “Would you put the bra and panties on now please Jayne?”

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