The amount of money maid me less nervous. Well, maybe I wasn't less nervous, but I was willing to take the risk. I was a model, you see. The contract seemed typical, but I was never a big time model to know what a big time contract looked like. Maybe I should have hired an agent, but I never thought I'd need to. Not yet, anyhow. I was a freshman in college. I didn't presume I'd need an agent until I was serious about modeling, if that were ever going to happen. I knew I looked good, but I wasn't sure I looked good enough to model for a living. I' was brunette, and I kept thin highlights in my hair because it looked fuller and healthier that way, plus it added nice contrast between my hair and somewhat tan skin. I had big, brown eyes, and full, pouty lips. I was fairly small: 5' 1". That's part of why I never thought seriously about modeling. My figure was 32C-22-34... which places my breasts and hips at just a tad too big for main stream modeling, and made me totally out of proportion due to my height. In addition, I had a birth mark the size of a half dollar on the small of my back. I was simply too imperfect for mainstream modeling.
    
    I took the shoot anyhow. The man who hired me seemed nice, and the money was right. $30,000 for a weekend's worth of photo shoots? What normal college freshman wouldn't take the deal? I got an initial 10% before the shoot, though, so I figured it was legitimate. What kidnapper or rapist or whatever would give a girl $3,000 the weekend before he kidnapped or raped her? The studio itself was made in a large studio apartment, and it had all the props and tools any other studio had. I felt safer when the man who hired me offered me coffee and made me feel at home in a big, black, leather chair. The corner the two chairs and the small black table between them were in had a warm aura.
    
    The photographer who hired me was an older gentleman. I guessed he was 45 or so. He had a somewhat rugged beard, but he groomed it well. He had on fashionable clothes, to the point I made a joke about his outfit being cliche after I got relaxed. He didn't seem like a very smart man, but he was nice. He seemed even more legitimate when he said I'd have to change into the clothes he had there, since there were licensing issues with certain brands and he didn't want to risk it. Only a professional, or at least someone putting a lot of effort into becoming professional, would worry about licensing issues with clothes. He showed me a rack of clothes I could choose from, and even though I had gotten comfortable with the situation in general, I was uncomfortable with the clothing. It was lingerie. The contract never mentioned what I would be modeling. I had never modeled lingerie, or anything else that might be used for sexual purposes. I didn't want to appear nervous, though, so I simply looked through the collection for things that covered me as much as possible.
    
    While I was looking through the selection, the photographer was doing something in the kitchen. He was organizing things or something. It was a just studio apartment, so we could still converse normally. He mentioned that the magazine that was buying pictures from him wanted the garter belts modeled. I found several garters that were black, one white, one pink, and one blue, plus matching bras for each. I couldn't, however, find any panties at all. It seemed odd that there wouldn't be any lingerie panties. Fortunately, I was wearing a black g-string that day, which was typical when I modeled clothes. Granted, that was only twice, and for a local Ma and Pa store.
    
    I went to the bathroom to change into the lingerie. It was made for slightly thinner people. Like professional models, perhaps. One of the black pairs of lingerie had sizes that were pretty close to mine, so I figured I'd model those first. The garter belt was lacy and clipped onto equally lacy stockings. The bra's lace matched, but it was a tad small for me. I figured I'd model it anyway, since it still looked good. It was simply uncomfortable. The set came with long, lacy, black gloves made of the same semi-transparent material, and I put on a pair of black high heel shoes that didn't come with the set, but it seemed appropriate. I folded my clothes and placed them on top of a hamper.
    
    Before leaving the bathroom I checked myself in the mirror. I had to admit I looked good, but I was a nervous wreck. I hadn't expected to be showing nearly that much skin. My makeup and hair were good, but I wasn't comfortable in sexy clothes around even friendly strangers. It showed, too. My face was red even though I had on make-up, my palms were sweating, I was shaking slightly, and my heart was racing. I spent several moments trying to calm down. I took the gloves off and dried my hands, put them back on and walked out. My heart still raced, and I could feel the air on my overexposed flesh as I walked to the white draped gallery. The photographer, who's name was Jim, by the way, was adjusting his camera, so I simply stood waiting.
    
    He didn't even look at me before getting behind the camera and snapping a few pictures. I wasn't ready, so those first two pictures were me standing around and being pensive. I was about to start posing when Jim stood up straight and looked at me as though annoyed. I was already nervous and I didn't know why he'd be irritated with me, so I hesitated further. My worry about being there started to grow, even though, rationally, I knew I had no need to worry. Well, I could still worry about posing in so little. What would my parents think if they found out? Would this prevent me from getting any good jobs in the future?
    
    Then, before I could finish thinking those thoughts, Jim stormed to the kitchen. He came right back and up to me without a pause. He had scissors in his hand, and my nervousness turned into fear. I stood frozen, though I guess I hadn't moved much by then, anyhow. I still wasn't sure what had upset him, but his sudden mood change was simply scary. I was too exposed and vulnerable to deal with an angry, strange man who I just then realized was of a fairly strong build.
    
    “What did I tell you about licensing issues?” He said as he suddenly grabbed the top of the front of my panties. He was looking me in the eyes. He didn't say it in a mean way, but his obvious irritation and invasion of my personal space threw me off.
    
    “But...” I motioned vaguely toward the rack of lingerie, lost for words.
    
    “But what?” He said, looking back at the rack and not letting go of my panties. My hands unconsciously moved to his, to prevent him from... something I wasn't sure what it was.
    
    “There... uh... there aren't any panties on the... on the rack.” I said, too anxious to move.
    
    I waited for his reaction, because he didn't immediately react. He loosened his grip on my panties, but still held them. He seemed to calm down as he turned to me. He explained calmly “Oh, right. Well, I guess I don't have any panties for you.” then his attention turned back to the panties he was holding. “I don't want to waste any time waiting for you to change again. These are cheap panties that you can easily replace. You cost me more money in film than these are worth. You can afford better panties with 30,000 dollars.”
    
    After saying that, he pulled the front of my panties away from my skin. It pulled me slightly off balance, and my hands shot down to grab the band next to where he was holding them. “Hey.” I said quietly, meekly. He glanced up at me, then used the scissors to cut the band on the left. I said “Hey!” again, but with a little force, and he looked up at me as he cut the other band. He then quickly tugged, and the band came out of my hands. I had an admittedly week hold on my panties. The worst part, though, was that the thong back of the panties slid down my butt and into my vulva. That happened quickly, and it burned slightly. I jumped and that caused the burn to be very minor. What was he thinking?
    
    Jim walked away nonchalantly. I guess I didn't make a noise when I got cloth-burned, but I quickly put my hands to my crotch. Not only did I hold the mild burn, I also wanted to cover up my privates. “Hey.” I said, somewhat meekly again. I guess I was intimidated. Why would I act so meek, otherwise? He made it back to the camera and looked at me questioningly. I continued “I... uh... I don't have any panties.”
    
    Jim raised an eye brow and held his questioning look for a moment. Then, when I didn't say something else, he said “I know, I just took them.” He then showed me the cut panties. He glanced around, looking for somewhere to put them, couldn't find anywhere, so tucked them into his pocket. After that, he looked back at me, still questioningly.
    
    “Um...” I didn't know what to say. I stood there stupidly, stiffly, nervously.
    
    “Right, now that the problem's solved, let's get going.” Jim said, seeming confused by me. He got behind the camera and took a picture. A few seconds later, he took another picture. After a few more seconds, he stood up again and calmly said “Okay, sorry for getting so irritated earlier. I hadn't realized how new you were to this. If you want to give me the 3 grand back, I'll let you go and that'll be the end of it.”
    
    I was there for the money! I hadn't realized how inexperienced I was, I suppose. Models probably usually don't care how much of their body they're showing. Jim probably had ways of taking pictures and hiding the stuff a magazine wouldn't want to see, or he'd simply not use the ones that showed it, or it'd get blurred out, or something. They could probably even photo shop some panties in. Or maybe the company selling lingerie didn't care about a little vulva or accidental rear shots, since they were selling lingerie, which is meant for sex anyway. I slowly moved my hands away from my freshly shaved crotch. I was still very nervous about it, but I didn't want it to show. I wasn't sure where to put my arms, so I balled up my hands and put them on my hips. I was keeping my legs together, partly so it wouldn't seem I was too eager and inexperienced, and half because the exact opposite was actually true. I wasn't eager at all. I didn't want total strangers looking at my private parts! But why would I care, as a model? I was a model, not some layman who assumed that just because there was flesh, sex was on it's way. I should have been better than that. I replied, after those few moments of thought, “No... sorry. I... I just... you cut my panties and pulled them so hard... We can keep... uh, keep going... Sorry.”
    
    Jim changed his look to one of thought. “Right. I probably pulled them harder than I meant to. Well, let's get to it!” He moved down to his camera again. He snapped several pictures, and I didn't move, yet. I was still nervous about showing off my privates to strangers. I was concerned about what my family might think, and I was concerned that the pictures might end up somewhere they shouldn't, but I didn't want that to show. I was much too stiff, and I wasn't moving at all. If I didn't do modeling the way I should, (like a model) Jim might just demand the money back and kick me out. That would mean there would be pictures of me dressed that way floating around somewhere already. Also, I already spent most of the money I got on a computer and school books, so I'd be a few thousand dollars in debt to him. I was trapped. Oh, bad way to think about it! A better way would be that I already made my decision, and I had to see it through. The conditions were different, but that also explained why the money was so good. Did I expect that much for just a couple snap shots of me in a full evening gown?
    
    I realized I spent too much time just standing there, so I moved my hips to the side and waited for a few more snaps. It still felt like the focus of the pictures were on my crotch, that I should cover up in the name of decency. The garter belt and stockings outlined the fact I had no panties on, drew attention to my bare, naked crotch. I couldn't help but think that perverts would use those pictures to masturbate to, but I tried to blow that off as silly worrying. So what if they did, really? They could masturbate to anything. I turned to the side and moved my arms up and around my torso in a sort of self hug. It was just so unnatural not covering up my exposed crotch! To make matters worse, I glanced down and saw a pink line that extended about an inch above the top of my vulva. It was a burn mark from when Jim pulled my panties off. I knew it could get airbrushed off, but that meant someone would be focusing on my naked vulva on a computer screen.
    
    Just then, Jim stood upright again and said “Wait... wait wait. You're much too nervous. Come here.”
    
    He motioned me towards him. I hesitated a split second, but then walked forward. I was so nervous and tight that how I was walking felt funny, like I was almost too straight. When I got to him, he took one of my hands and he walked me to the black, leather chairs we sat in earlier. “You sit down and relax. I'll get you some coffee.”
    
    Jim did exactly as he said, though it was difficult to relax. There I was, on a strange man's leather chair, without any pants or panties on. I couldn't help but pull my legs together. When he sat across from me, he looked straight at my crotch and just stared for a moment. Then he started to stand and said, “Don't I feel like an ass, now. I'll be back.”
    
    He went off to the bathroom. Nothing was happening to help me relax. I wished music was on somewhere in the background, at least. Because my bare bottom was on leather, I couldn't even adjust myself when my back started hurting. Sliding into a new position simply wouldn't work. I certainly couldn't slide against it. Even if I managed it, it would make noises that drew a bunch of attention to the parts of me that lacked clothes. Doing it right would involve getting up and sitting back down, which I was too shy to do just then. The front of my vulva could be seen where my legs met, but standing would show off too much more. Even though nobody was around just then, I didn't want Jim to come back right when I was showing off my privates. But I knew that was a silly concern, too. Why would he care, and why would I? It shouldn't have mattered at all. I was being silly.
    
    Jim came back with a bottle of lotion. He handed it to me. I sat down my coffee and held the lotion in the air, where I took it from his hand at. He sat down and explained “I didn't see that red mark before. I guess I tugged your panties too hard. I get a temper, sometimes. That was my fault. That lotion should get the red mark to go away.” I took a moment to assimilate that. I was apparently really slow when I get nervous and shy due to being over exposed. He sat back and took a few sips of his coffee. I didn't want to show how nervous I was when the point of this very early break was to relax. I popped the top of the bottle and realized I still had the gloves on. I turned the bottle upside down and squirted a small dab just next to the red mark. I sat the bottle on the table and took off the gloves. The cold of the lotion exaggerated the natural air current in the studio, which served as a constant reminder that Jim could see my privates, but I tried to appear calm as I spread the lotion across the red mark. I had a tad too much lotion, so I spread it out a bit. My face was burning and my hands sweat into the lotion. I wondered if Jim could hear my heart beating.
    
    “Don't forget to rub it into your razor bumps, too. Those are hard to airbrush.” Jim said. I looked up at the sudden advice. Jim was watching me. He was pointing at my crotch, too. That didn't help relax at all, but I looked back at what I was doing and noticed I did have a few razor bumps. I spread the lotion over them, then slowed to rub the lotion in. Jim was still watching me! Why couldn't he look away?! But why would he? It was just skin. I might have kept telling myself that, but I knew I didn't believe it.
    
    “All of them.” Jim said, almost as though talking to a small child. I looked up at him and he was motioning at my crotch. I knew he must have meant the ones farther down my vulva, since there was one I could see that was farther down than the ones I covered. I spread my legs slightly, and I realized I couldn't get to the razor bumps between my vulva and legs without spreading them more. My heart seemed to skip a beat, but I ignored it. I didn't want to seem as nervous as I was, still, so I spread my legs farther, and I was fully exposed. That was it. That was the line. There I was. I didn't look ashamed, but that act was difficult to maintain. I wanted to snap my legs back shut, but I had to remain professional. I added some more lotion from the bottle and rubbed it around each side of my womanhood, then right on the lips. The lotion did feel really good and cool. The bumps almost instantly felt better. When I looked back up and started reaching for my coffee, he used the same tone to say “Make sure you rub it in. I don't want to have to airbrush little white streaks.”
    
    The lotion was very thick, so rubbing it in took effort. It seemed like Jim was growing impatient, and I didn't want to see what he'd do next time he got a temper. I used both hands to make it go faster, but it was simply hard to get rid of the white streaks it left behind. Maybe I used too much. Jim adjusted a bit, then there was the flash of a flash bulb from his chair. I gasped and looked up at him. I covered myself and slammed my legs shut, producing a slapping noise. He moved a camera from his eye down to the table, and he had a big grin. He was chuckling. “Why are you so nervous, girl?”
    
    I couldn't help but laugh. He was right. Why was I so nervous? It was just my crotch. I was the one who assumed the sexuality of it. He was just trying to get pictures for his job, and I was being difficult. I kept laughing from the anxiety. It was a good release. He chuckled with me, then held up his finger and started getting up. On his way to the bathroom he said “I'll get some makeup.”
    
    I stopped rubbing the lotion in and spread my legs again. I'd have to get used to him seeing that area. I wouldn't get comfortable if I didn't. After all, I'd be in that state in front of him for at least the rest of the day, and maybe the next. I wanted to shut my legs again, but I figured leaving them open would help the nervousness wash away. I was concerned about the angle. Was I holding my legs too wide open? Did it look unnatural? I wasn't sure, so I kept them that way. The giggling helped calm me, but I was concerned about him applying makeup to my privates. Did that cross the line of professionalism? Would he do something improper when he touched me? I drank coffee as I waited for him, those thoughts circling around in my head.
    
    I felt much more comfortable when he came back. He was still lightly chuckling, and I giggled a bit more. I wasn't totally over it, but I knew it was only a matter of time. I was embarrassed, but it was much less than before. I could deal with it. When he got back, he had a whole package full of makeups. He sat on the small coffee table, facing me. He set the bag down next to him and got out some foundation. He looked up at me with the same smile he had when he was chuckling, and said “Scoot forward.”
    
    I came to expect he'd give me the makeup, but he didn't. I was right about him doing it, apparently, but I have heard how professional models had people to do it for them. I never considered they'd put it anywhere besides their face, though. I half stood and moved forward, then sat back down with my butt only half on the cushion. Because Jim was so close and his legs were in the way, I had to keep my legs spread. However, I spread my legs to about a 120 degree angle, so that Jim would be able to apply the makeup over the streaks, razor bumps and pinkish burn. I felt like that was too wide, like he might think I was showing him my goods, but I didn't want to renege and make it more difficult than as easy as I initially made it for him. Jim looked at me confused. He looked down at my crotch, then chuckled again. He looked back at my eyes and said “Okay, I guess we'll cover that up with some, too.”
    
    In my embarrassment, I turned my head to the side and covered my face with my hands. I giggled along with his chuckles. He meant my face the whole time! He never meant to apply any makeup to my feminine parts! When I put my hands back down and sat straighter to give him access to my face, I realized he was actually quite charming. I was becoming attracted to him. I was then concerned that my body would get confused. I had never been that naked around a man I found attractive so soon after finding him attractive. I had to focus on the job, on the makeup. Oh, but he was then going to put some makeup on my private parts. I invited it, to boot. Maybe he was just joking, though.
    
    I sat quietly, watching Jim's face as he applied the makeup. He was quiet and focused. I had some makeup on already, but not much. He put it on right over my own. It felt like a lot, but I had never done so professional a shoot, before. It took him about twenty minutes, and I could tell my body was a bit confused. I just hoped he didn't smell or feel it when he put the makeup on my crotch. That was next. He did do it. He moved back a bit and bent down for a good view. I was concerned he wasn't being professional, but then obviously neither was I. Should I have told him not to do that? It would look better with some foundation over it, to hide the discoloration. He seemed like he knew what he was doing, so I went along with it. He applied a thin coat of foundation around the whole area. It felt mildly good when he rubbed it on my vulva lips. I hoped I'd be able to contain myself, but I started getting a bit wet. A man I was attracted to was rubbing my privates, I couldn't avoid it! My vulva was a brighter pink than it usually was, with the inside more visible and red and moist, and he had a grin. How embarrassing! He knew! He looked at me with the same grin and said “Here, I'll make it so it just looks naturally pink.”
    
    He got out some rouge and applied it to my vulva. It looked a light pink, and it didn't look like it was because I was getting aroused. He sat up a moment and said to me “Put your gloves back on”, and then he leaned back down and got a different foundation and a darker rouge. I was confused, but I grabbed my gloves and put them on before he got back to work. He spread the foundation on my vulva, blending it at the sides. Then he applied the darker rouge. It felt nice and I knew my arousal was apparent to him even past the makeup, but I started getting nervous. It looked just like I was not only aroused, but like I was very aroused. Why would he make me look constantly aroused? Then it occurred to me he may not have seen any vulva that weren't aroused, being an attractive man. But that wasn't right, if most models didn't get aroused at such pictures being taken. Did they, though? Maybe he aroused every model to ever work for him?
    
    “Okay, grab your ankles and sit back in the chair.” He said as he went through the bag. That was both a surprising and confusing request. I didn't know what he was doing, but he was the professional. My anxiety was coming back quickly, but I had to assume he knew what he was doing. I reminded myself he was professional again. I grabbed my ankles on the inside, then rolled back in the chair. I moved slowly, trying to gauge his reaction. He seemed mostly neutral to it, but he still had the grin. I was exposing myself to him very lewdly, which I thought was inappropriate in a professional relationship. But, then, I trusted he knew what he was doing and where the line was. Well, not really, but I could always stop things when they got too far. After I adjusted, he grabbed my hips and pulled me down a few inches, then pulled my feet until they were on the arms of the chair. I held the position, though my back hurt from it. My arousal faded away as he looked through the makeup bag.
    
    “You don't want to to have that brownish color in the pictures, do you?” Jim asked, I assumed rhetorically. He took some of the foundation and applied it right in my widely spread butt crack. He spread it along the entire length, then applied more right at my anus. He spread that around in little circles, then spread it right over the hole itself. He pressed in slightly. I almost called it quits right there, but I didn't. I sincerely don't know why. I forced myself to relax, and he applied the makeup around and in the edge of my anus. Then he took something he held too low for me too see and he spread it unevenly and oddly throughout my butt crack. Some of whatever it was got spread a bit off to the side, onto my butt cheeks. He quickly withdrew that. I didn't know what he had done, and I don't know why I didn't question him about it. Maybe I was still intimidated. I was far too easygoing. Maybe it was my professional model charade that kept me too proud to say no. He set all the makeups back in the bag, then commented “This is my best work, yet!”. He picked up the camera he had on the table, pointed it down at my crotch, then took a picture of my lewdly spread privates. He turned it upside down, took a picture of my butt from a lower and then looked at me with a serious look on his face.
    
    I sighed for some reason. Probably the shock that he'd take such lewd pictures, or maybe the shock that I would just sit there and do nothing about it when he tried. He ignored me, then set the camera down and stood up. I was confused about what just happened. He had undoubtedly seen that I was attracted to him. Did he just do a super sort of flirting? Did I just flirt back by allowing that? Did he expect to sleep with me? Should I have said something? At any rate, I was getting really nervous again. I was stiffening up from it.. He walked over to his camera at the gallery, and then looked at me and said “Come on, let's get to work.”
    
    He seemed professional in saying that, but I was positive that makeup on my anus was unprofessional. Or was I? Did professional models do that? Why would they, they don't ever show off their privates. I was becoming positive this wasn't as professional as he was trying to make it seem. But what if all of this was normal? Could that photo shoot get me a career? Well, I had gone that far, pictures were already taken, the makeup already applied. I decided to finish the shoot and find out. Or at least get paid. Jim seemed nice enough, after all. He'd have done something bad already if he were going to. But, then, I guess I considered what he had just done a bad thing. Oh well, I'd just keep going, if only because I was, I had to admit, trapped. I couldn't give him the advance back if I had to, and I didn't want to go to court over it. I simply didn't know anything about applicable laws.
    
    I stood up and walked over to the gallery, again. I was nervous again. I don't know if I was as nervous as I was earlier, but it was probably close. I posed in common poses, all standing. The fact I wasn't wearing panties bothered me more and more as the shoot continued. With that makeup, it definitely looked as though I were aroused. What did the makeup on my butt look like? Would it even be seen? I certainly didn't want it to be. What was the point of that? Did Jim think I'd put out, and he was testing to see if I would get upset at something going in my butt? If it were a man's penis, I would have. Why didn't I with his fingers? I had a thought as I took a knee. I hadn't really considered how spread that knee would make my legs, and I knew my vulva opened up, giving the camera a good view. But that concern was secondary to the first thought. What did the makeup on my face look like? Jim applied quite a bit. I couldn't tell by feel what it looked like, but I know it was thick. What if I looked whorish? Was he just dressing me up to fuck me? Was this photography thing just a sham to trick girls into being hookers for a weekend?
    
    “Alright, you're doing good so far. Looking good. You're nice, you're friendly. You're happy about the weather. It's warm enough, take the bra off.” Jim said. My very first reaction was to ask not to have to, but I realized how bizarre it would seem not only to Jim, but also to myself. I was already panty-less. Humiliatingly so. Why would I refuse to remove my bra when my very womanhood was displayed so seemingly proudly? I had to maintain my professional model charade, even if the bluff was being tested. How was the bluff doing against the tests? I had a sinking feeling it wasn't doing well.
    
    I realized I was hesitating, so I slowly stood back up and reached back to unhook my bra. I unhooked it, then held it up to my breasts. A few pictures later I pulled it to the side, then tossed it away entirely after several more. I know I was trying not to appear nervous, but was I being too sexy? This was supposed to be very professional, did professionals do a strip tease when they removed their bras? I somehow doubted it. I realized I stopped moving again, but Jim interrupted my thoughts “Oh, woah, woah, woah! Jesus, it seems like you've never done this before! Back to the chair, now.”
    
    Jim seemed slightly upset at having whatever went wrong go wrong. I was worried about going back to the chair, and I was admittedly scared what he had in mind. However, I was still doing the crumbling professional bluff. I intuited that this was a pretty unprofessional shoot so far, but I had never done anything professionally, so I couldn't be sure. I just went along with it, as I had been I kept going along with whatever. After all, I reminded myself again, pictures had already been taken. I might as well just finish and get it over with.
    
    I sat back down in the chair and Jim sat on the table again. “Okay” he began “put your hands under your tits and cup them...”
    
    'Tits' is definitely unprofessional, and I couldn't keep my mouth shut. I interrupted Jim “Hey, let's remain professional, okay?”
    
    Jim looked really confused, and hesitated a moment. “Uh... I don't know what I did that was unprofessional.”
    
    “You said... 'tits'.” I reminded him. I realized how strange it might be taking offense to that word when I was already essentially naked. I suddenly felt stupid. Why would that offend me. It's just a word, and easier to say that 'breasts'. Professionals probably do use it a lot.
    
    “Yeah...” Jim said, still confused looking. “Your tits. Hold them up and keep them from moving. You've seriously never had them called that before?”
    
    “Oh...” I started. “I just... never mind.” I realized that it really wasn't that offensive a term. It was just my anxiety causing me to overreact. When in a group so easy about their body and such, it was probably a common term. I was still wary that he was less professional than he claimed, but my ignorance of professional modeling made me not want to blow it. If I seemed unprofessional... I dunno. It was important.
    
    As I thought, I lifted my breasts like he asked. He took the lighter foundation and spread it around the entirety of both breasts. As he did, he glanced up and winked at me. I didn't react. What was I supposed to do to that? Here he was, essentially fondling my breasts, and I had to let him. I simply sat there, and he worked. Soon, my breasts were a uniform skin tone. I had to admit they looked smoother, but the areolae and nipples were then the same color as the rest of them. Then, however, he took the rouge and spread it in a circle over my areolae and nipples. They appeared a nice pink hue. Then he took lipstick, which was a bit surprising, and he drew in a circle at the edge of my areolae. It seemed to accentuate them far too much, since it was a deep shade of red, but he left them that way. The circle was an obvious, dark red circle. He then took the lip stick and did another circle at the base of each nipple, and colored in the tip of each nipple as well.
    
    It looked silly to me, like lip-stick bulls eyes, but he sat back, put the makeup away, and said “Ah, much better. Next time, I'd suggest applying all of this yourself, beforehand. I have half a mind to dock some of your wages.” He grinned and gave a short chuckle, then took my hands and helped me up. He turned me slightly as I got up. He smacked my rear lightly, though it made a fairly loud slapping noise, and pointed back at the gallery. “Get on up there.”
    
    I was certainly not getting any less nervous. My breasts looked silly, and that slap on my rear made me lose some cool. Photographers don't spank professional models. He was making a fool of me. He was getting kicks out of what he was putting me through. And I was still too nervous and ignorant to do anything about it. After all, what if I was simply a newbie who wasn't used to common professional friendliness? I went back to modeling, and he took pictures. I knew I was being made a fool of, but too proud and scared to do something about it. How were those nipple bulls eyes not evidence enough of the fact?! Why wouldn't that show up on film? What sort of photo trickery would it possibly be used for?! But I was stupid, and I pranced around the gallery. He took pictures of me in compromising positions, ad holding those bulls eyes up for all to see.
    
    I stood for quite a few of the pictures, both facing forward and back. I glanced here and there, hands on hips, folded under my breasts, holding them, etc. I was being sexy because I really didn't know what else to do. Why would I choose being sexy, anyhow? I really was the fool Jim was making me out to be. Jim finally seemed to get frustrated “Okay, I can see you need instructions, too.”
    
    I actually did, if the pictures were going to advance in any meaningful way, but I certainly didn't want them to. He continued “Okay, hands on your head” snap, snap “Turn.” snap, snap “Hips to the side.” snap, snap, and we continued in that way for a few minutes. Among seemingly ordinary poses, he had me widen my stance significantly, thrust my hips forward, open my mouth and lick the air seductively and other such. A knot was developing in my gut. Then, suddenly, Jim chuckled and said “And you took offense at the word 'tits. Come on, loosen up and we'll finish this set in half an hour. We'll take a break, you can change, we'll have some lunch. It'll be fine.”
    
    That got me to giggle. I relaxed slightly. I mean, he might not be the most professional, and he might know I want to appear professional, but maybe this was his way of flirting. I mean... he had already seen me naked... I can't say I enjoyed it, but it probably wasn't any more than that. I could talk about it at lunch.
    
    He continued his instructions, and I followed. I was never happy about it, but I still wasn't as nervous as I initially was. I comforted myself by reminding myself everything had already been exposed, so nothing new could be done to humiliate me, really. I got down on my knees, licked at my breasts, turned every which way and generally exposed some more. I came close to losing my composure when he turned me around and got me on all fours. I had to arch my back and stick my butt up in the air. He had me spread my legs, fully opening and exposing not only my womanhood, but also my rear end. I got curious how it looked again, but couldn't do anything about it. I was sure he was working specifically to embarrass me. Maybe he was trying to see how far he could push me before I refused him. Yet, I was still too worried to do anything about it.
    
    On all fours, still, he had me arch my back and bend forward until my breasts were on the floor, but my butt had to stay in the same place. That was hard to do. Then I had to put my weight on my breasts. He made me reach behind me and spread my butt cheeks apart. After getting in position like that, he stopped instructing me. I could hear him moving around. He took a picture about once every ten seconds. I moved my head to try to look behind me. I could just barely see him past my leg. He was just moving around to take pictures from different angles. Then, suddenly, he stood straight and said “Okay, back to the chair, slut.”
    
    I stood bolt upright, turned, put my hands on my hips and said fiercely “Hey! 'Slut' is most definitely unprofessional! I think this shoot is over!”
    
    He gave me a look like I was stupid again “I said 'tut'. 'Tut', as in 'hurry'. Not 'slut'. Jesus, what's going through your mind? Now, I'm serious, you'd better get your head in the game. You're still so nervous and you're mishearing me. Now, back to the chair. Tut”
    
    I was almost sure he said 'slut', but I didn't want to take the chance to, well, blow my chance. I had already been about as humiliated as I thought he could humiliate me, so I went along with it. By then, I was convinced the only good thing to come from the shoot would be the money. I could handle being humiliated for that much cash. And what would he do with the pictures if I started refusing him right then? He quite simply had the upper hand. I decided to finish what I had started.
    
    I sat back in the chair, legs together again. He sat on the table again and went through the makeup bag. He had me scoot forward and spread my legs. I was curious what he was going to do now, but I had the impression I was on thin ice already. A strange impression when you know it's you who should be in charge, and you should be taking offense. I don't know exactly what might have happened, but I was scared. I did as I did earlier. My legs were spread, and he took the lipstick to my crotch. He put the lipstick on the edge of my vulva, just as though they were lips. I was offended and scared of his intentions, but I figured I'd let him do it so that I could at least get paid. I really can't think why I let him get away with that. I guess I was just a push-over, a meek person. Then he took the lipstick to my real lips. I was upset that he'd use it on my lips after putting it on my vulva, but I had already been humiliated enough. It wasn't really a big step. I was confused how I let it get that far, but I didn't stop it there, either. He spread it along my lips as usual, but then started writing something on my forehead.
    
    “What are you doing?” I asked him.
    
    “Well,” he answered as he put away the lip-stick“ Your vagina looked flat and bland. Nobody would buy what you're modeling if the model had a vagina that didn't even show up. And I'm only coloring in your facial makeup a bit. Don't worry.”
    
    I was firstly offended that he thought the 'flat vagina' thing would fool me, let alone make any sense. I was secondly offended that he used an improper term. I was also offended that he lied about writing something on my forehead. “What? You wrote something on my forehead!”
    
    “Nope,” he retorted calmly “I only added a few red marks that I blended in so your forehead didn't look flat.”
    
    I didn't know what to say, so I didn't. I slowly pulled my legs together and just looked accusingly at him. He simply smiled and turned away. He went into the kitchen and started moving some chair, or something. I looked around for a mirror. I couldn't see one, so I looked through the makeup bag quickly. There wasn't one in there, so I got up and went to the bathroom. I was sure I looked in a mirror in the bathroom earlier, but it was apparently gone. Not only was the mirror gone, but so was the shower curtain, the hamper, the lingerie I picked out to model, and my personal clothes. Even the toilet paper was gone, so I couldn't remove any makeup. I could smudge it around, but that wouldn't solve anything.
    
    I realized the whole thing had been a sort of game. He was a pervert, professional or not. He wanted to see what he could do to me and get away with it. Well, I had several copies of my contract, so I knew I had money coming. Even if I had to take it to court, I'd get paid. I figured I'd play his little game until he let me go, and then get my money. After all, this was a stupid and perverted game, but he hadn't actually done anything I hadn't allowed him to do. So I'd simply finish the game and move on. I glanced at the silly makeup on my body I could see, and I glowered. I couldn't stop.
    
    When I left the bathroom, I could see him adjusting a large, wooden chair up on the gallery. I marched up to him, crossed my arms in as intimidating a manner as I could under those conditions, and said “Okay, it's been fun, but let's finish this, now.”
    
    He grinned because he knew I finally caught on to his game. I was so foolish for letting it progress so far. “Alright, you got me. Let's finish up this set.”
    
    I sighed and felt my mouth drop open. “What?”
    
    “The set. Just pose a few times in the chair, then I promise I'll be good.”
    
    “How about we start a new...”
    
    He cut me off, his smile turning into a look of annoyance, again. “Listen, you're going to finish this set because there's a clause in your contract demanding a certain number of pictures. That number is one thousand. You're going to finish my little play-time set or else not only will you not get paid, but I'll have to demand the advance back. If all that happens and I don't get it, some porn web-site might just find these pictures, by pure accident. So just play nice and you'll get out of here with an intact reputation and a check for $27,000 dollars, okay?”
    
    I couldn't explain how angry I was. I knew he was right. At least, he had a good bluff if he wasn't. I harrumphed as I put my arms straight to my sides, then I angrily marched up to the chair. I turned and sat straight in the chair, legs together and arms folded in front of me. The chair was apparently some sort of rocker, because it bounced a bit when I sat in it. I had an obviously angry face on. He snapped a few pictures and then chuckled.
    
    “No, no, no. You're not being sexy.” He said as he approached me. I had a twinge of fear hit me as he got close. He took my hands, not avoiding touching my breasts as he did, and set them on the end of the arm rests. The chair looked poorly designed, as though some carpenter built it hastily out of whatever spare wood he could find. It wasn't super ugly, but it was bulky and unrefined. He then spread my legs, pushing them apart at the knees. I stayed as he moved me, obviously unhappy and mad about it. I stared him down as he moved me, but he didn't notice or care. He got behind the chair, and he started doing something that made it rock slightly. He gave it a good tug, then I heard a noise when a large section of the seat fell out from under me. I was still supported, but there was a hole my vulva and rear could be seen through right under me. There were flashes that came from under me as he took about a dozen pictures. When he stood back up and moved in front of me I gave him a death stare, though I didn't move from how he put me.
    
    He leaned down and pulled something out of his pocket. It was like a leather collar, or something, but it had a decent sized red ball in the middle. He said “Okay, ten more pictures. Just act the part and we'll be done in a jiffy. Say 'Ah'!”” Then he put the ball up to my mouth with the straps to either side. I opened my mouth, still giving him the death eye. He put the ball in my mouth, and it forced my mouth open uncomfortably wide. He strapped the leather strips behind my head, then stood up and examined his work. I was looking to the side. I was too angry to keep looking at him.
    
    He went back to his camera, took three shots, then said “Oh, one last touch! And this will be it!” He walked over to the makeup bag, got out the makeup, and walked over to me. He knelt down in front of me and started writing something on my belly. The first few words were right under my breasts, so I couldn't quite make them out. The words under those words I could make out after he wrote them. I wasn't very good at reading upside down. I only made out what it said after he drew a line that extended through the garter belt and ended in an arrow pointing at my womanhood. I could read 'I'm good for”.
    
    I was horribly offended, but I also knew that part of the horrible night was almost over and I'd soon be able to attempt to recover my dignity. He tossed the makeup to the side and went back to take some more pictures. He took four, from different angles. I made a questioning noise as he approached me. My eyes were shooting daggers into him. He said “One last touch.”
    
    Before I could react, he pulled some straps that were already attached to the chair over my wrists and pulled them into place. I started to struggle as he tightened and buckled them into place. I was unable to escape them. I gave him the dirtiest look I could muster, closed my legs, and shook my head violently. I tried to yell at him past the gag, but only “Mmmmhhhngn!” came out.
    
    He knelt down and pulled my legs apart by my knees. He was actually quite strong, as I was fighting it. My legs were strong. Not super strong, but I jogged. He buckled my legs apart just under the knee, then he buckled my ankles. He stood up and then buckled my waist by a seatbelt looking thing, and then more straps went around my thighs, pulling them apart just over the hole. I continued to scream at him, but then he buckled my arms down just under the elbow. Two straps went across my chest, which he crossed so that each breast was forced into a triangle and mashed a little bit. He worked on something behind the chair for a moment, then I felt something pressing up into my womanhood. He didn't slow down even though I was throwing my head from side to side. Something thick was quickly and somewhat painfully thrust deep into my vagina. I heard a few clicks from below, and then Jim moved around me. The thing inside me didn't budge.
    
    I tried to escape the restraints, but they were so many and so well placed and constructed that I made no headway what-so-ever. I screamed at Jim when he was next to me. I couldn't make words, so I just screamed. The ball in my mouth muted the scream tremendously, but I still tried. He jolted the chair downward, and it bounced. The thing in me, however, did not move, so I bounced on it. It got deep and fast, so it hurt.
    
    “Okay. Three more then we're done, you little whore.” The screams were out of me, I simply continued to look at him with hate in my eyes. What he was doing had to be illegal, and I was going to leave the instant he was done with his pictures and unstrapped me. Never had I been so insulted and humiliated! He went back to his camera and took three different shots.
    
    He took his camera over to his computer and hooked it up. I was beginning to worry that he didn't plan on releasing me, but I ignored the idea and watched him with the most evil glare I could muster. My vagina was really getting sore, and I wanted out as soon as possible. He spent several minutes over there as my invaded area simply throbbed with the dull pain. He glanced at me once in a while, but payed most of his attention to his computer. I heard him print a few things off, which he organized and then brought over to me.
    
    When he got over to me he had a grin on his face again. “See, not so bad, right?” he asked. I couldn't reply, so I just glared. Then, he held up pictures for me to see. They were of me. They looked like they were professionally printed, I didn't know printers could make such good photos, but I wasn't concerned with that right then. The first photo was me, right after he had tugged my panties off. I seemed nervous and confused, but that was about it. I screamed through the gag again, since my patience had worn since before he had strapped me in.
    
    “You know, you're too loud.” He commented nonchalantly. He took something out of his pocket. I didn't get a good view, but it was about six inches long and black. He put it up to the ball in my mouth and shoved. Whatever it was went through the ball. There must have been a hole, or something. I could feel it enter the back of my mouth. It was soft, but it made me gag a bit. I relaxed and prevented it, but I was severely limited in noises. I could either remain quiet, or I could throw up. The gag would make throwing up a terrible choice, so I had to stay quiet. I was horrified. I realized, no, I admitted as I hadn't earlier: I wasn't getting unstrapped any time soon. I started crying. I controlled my crying enough to keep it light. If I cried too hard, I'd have a real problem breathing.
    
    He showed me the rest of the pictures. The next was a picture of me standing in the garter, bra, and gloves. He had applied the makeup by then. I looked relaxed, but I also looked like a total whore. Not only was I accentuating my vulva with the garter belt and stockings, it also appeared I was entirely turned on by it. To top things off, I could see the facial makeup. My lipstick was the bright red he had been using, which was totally unnatural looking. The rouge was applied much too heavily, and the eye shadow took up much too much space with an obvious dark blue. The mascara was too thick and everything. In effect, I looked like a cheap whore.
    
    The next picture was after I took the bra off. The bulls eyes that he made of my nipples just made me look all that much cheaper. The fourth picture was after he had my get on the ground turned around. My chest was on the ground and I was pulling my butt cheeks apart so that the camera had a perfect view of my womanhood and anus. I had to put more effort into controlling my crying when I saw that, because he had apparently written across my butt, keeping most of the words in or next to my butt crack. The words said 'Free Ass Fuck'. The words were somewhat small, but clearly visible.
    
    That picture was taken before I even realized something was horribly wrong. Why had I been so slow to realize? How had I allowed myself to get trapped like that? How stupid could I possibly be?! He didn't let me commiserate for long. The next picture wasn't of me, it was of only my privates. It was a picture he took under the chair. My vulva was spread slightly with my knees, and the lipstick on the lips made it all too apparent. My anus was the highlight of the picture, being in the center. You could make out 's fuck', right above my flesh tone butt hole.
    
    The next picture was with me in the chair, not getting up and leaving, after the gag was put in and my belly was written on. The writing said “The only thing I'm good for”, and the arrow under it led right to my womanhood. And he certainly did write on my forehead, too. Written boldly and obviously across my forehead was “WHORE”. My lipstick was brighter and fuller than earlier, too. The red of the lipstick on my vulva drew attention, too. The bulls eyes were still obvious and stupid looking, as well. It was obvious I was angry, but the gag being in and me not being strapped down, yet, made it look like I was there by choice.
    
    The last picture was after I had gotten all strapped in. The straps didn't cover any of the words on my belly (or anything else, actually), and I looked just as ridiculous as in the previous picture. In addition, the wide, black dildo in my vagina was obvious. The reason he showed me that picture, I was sure, was because I just happened to make a face like I was enjoying myself. I blinked away some tears and put effort into keeping my throat and mouth relaxed.
    
    Using my eyes, I pleaded with Jim to let me go. He ignored me for a while. He did some other things on his computer. I heard him print off some stuff, then he just typed a lot. The whole while, the pain in my vagina throbbed a bit harder, and the restraints started causing some reduced blood flow. The thing in my mouth irritated me, but never became painful.
    
    I experimented with wiggling to get out of the straps, but for about ten minutes I was unsuccessful. Then Jim came back. This time, he dragged a large box behind him. I pleaded with my eyes some more as he lifted the box up and over me. It came quickly down with a loud bang. I wasn't hit or hurt from it, but I was now in a box. A very small amount of light came in from a dip in the top, but I couldn't see outside of the dip. The light showed me all the pictures I had been shown of myself. They were on the wall of the box in front of me, in order.
    
    Shortly thereafter, I heard hammering on the box. It was very loud, but not deafening. I hadn't realized until then that the bottom of the chair was a solid plank of wood. I was utterly trapped. The hammering continued for quite some time, and I guessed about two hundred nails. The entire time I tried to wiggle out of the restraint to no avail. I eventually tried to use sheer strength, but not only was that an obviously worse idea, it almost made me choke on the thing in my mouth. I spent uncountable minutes, perhaps even hours, trying to escape as I cried as softly as I could keep my crying. The mild pain in my vagina turned into a medium pain, and the restraints and forced position was causing cramps and soreness.
    
    Eventually, I heard the doorbell. Everything was muted. I hoped it was the police or something, but I knew it was a silly hope. I heard Jim talk to another man, but I couldn't make out what they were saying. Even if I wasn't saved, I hoped I'd be let out of the box. I was getting incredibly claustrophobic. After several minutes of talking and shuffling about of shoes, I heard something roll up to the box. Then there was a loud, wooden scraping and the box vibrated with a jostle. Suddenly, down shifted positions from being down, to being almost directly in front of me. Not only did I get mild vertigo, I also had the dildo in me shove backwards painfully, and stay there! I heard a man say “Don't worry, you'll be out of this box and married in no time.” Then the box vibrated, and I know I was getting moved to some other location. It was all I could do to keep from crying so hard I suffocated.