Two people looking for different things, but with a common goal It was late in the evening on yet another of those rare scorching late August days. I was having a pint of beer and a packet of Gary Lineker’s favourite crisps at an outdoor table at my local pub. It was there that I saw her.
About five foot two, slender build, nice tit bumps, long brown hair – a bit lank, a face that looked fourteen, the over elaborate make up not at all convincing; she had a Midlands dialect. She was sat with the manager at an adjacent table in earshot. It was obvious that a job interview was going on. He was drilling her on questions about where she lived, her availability and phone number. I quickly surmised that she was a runaway, living in a hostel, desperately seeking some source of income. I think the manager surmised the same thing and figuring she was a risk, turned her down. She tried pleading, but he just shook his head and walked off. One hell of an opportunity for one of my unofficial sidelines had surfaced.
She stood, sobbing, trying to keep from breaking into a cry, keeping her face down as she dabbed the tears. She slowly took a couple of steps. I got up, offered her a clean napkin from the stack supplied with condiments and asked her if she was looking for work. She nodded, a bit puzzled, but interested, still sniffling. I told her if she sat down with me I had an offer for her. She sat, wiping away the tears and noisily blowing her nose. Her red rimmed eyes were hungry for my crisps. I slid them over to her. She quickly stuffed several in her mouth. I smiled at the noise, they were large and crisp and she returned the smile while chewing. I went to the bar and bought her a non alcoholic ginger beer.
Between crackling chews, she asked what kind of work I had for her. I told her flat out it, I was a professional photographer, it was nude modelling and explained my work and my job. She gave me a wary look. I handed her one of my cards.
“You can see I am Seân, what’s your name?”
“Muffy,” she answered primly almost daring me to grin.
I told her all she had to do was strip down, pose for a dozen photos, and would get seventy five Euros if she was eighteen. Still with an unbelieving but hopeful look, she fished an ID card out of her purse and handed it to me.
“Ah! Molly Malcovich, but Muffy is cool.” I told her, reading the back of the card where there was the advert of one of the local print shops. Whether she had told them or they were so crap as I thought, they had spelled Romsey with a ‘u’. A very old fashioned and unused spelling of a very posh pronunciation of this small market town. I let her pretend she was eighteen.
Minutes later we were on the way to my studio walking along Bell Street. It’s located off The Hundred and not too far from the pub. As we walked in, I quickly decided that she need some polishing up. I saw that Muffy’s unbrushed hair, skimpy, scruffy, yellow tube top and tiny, washed out blue denim shorts weren’t going to work. As we went upstairs above the camera and photographic supplies shop I owned, I had scintillating views of her shapely tight arse and a good two inches of the lower portion of her buttocks, such was the short of her shorts. The only blemish were two red wheals across them, purely superficial where she’d been sat on the hard chair outside the Three Tuns pub. I showed her where the bathroom was, told her to take a shower, use the conditioner after the shampoo and to also use the robe hanging behind the door.
While she was in the shower I warmed up the equipment and lights I would use around a bed, after switching on the video camera concealed in the bathroom/toilet. I also retrieved a make up kit I had bought from one of those Avon ladies, just as a standby. When she came out of the shower, robe tightly wrapped, I started brushing her wavy shoulder length hair, making sure it dried in it’s long state. It had a nice sheen. I also used the make up kit to give her some freckles. I then asked her to take off the robe so I could see her body. That seemed OK for her, no pauses and afterthoughts.
She had small pointy tits topped with gorgeous puffies. Her dark brown nipples which in them selves were not stout buds were mounted on amazing extra cones, bumps of their own ... very very unusual. A little fuzz of light brown pubic hair was showing between her legs. I had her lay back while I retrieved a shaving mug and a lady razor.
She reached for it guessing why I had produced. it.
“No let me Muffy. Honestly I can do it a damn sight quicker than you. I know how women fiddled about. It won’t be perfect, your can do it yourself another time,” I told her. A minute later I was using the shaving brush to put foam on her pussy. Shit! She had a pretty twat and perfect for the sort of shoot I had in mind. Just a simple slit, no inner labia peeping out, no wrinkles, no blemishes. I carefully used the razor to get the hairs she had growing making sure not to leave the area looking shaved. As the piece d’ resistance, I applied baby oil to give her now bald pussy a sheen. She squeaked a protest again, so I let her finish it off. I will always remember the softness of her pudenda and the closeness of my fingers to her snatch.
I knew what kind of shoot I had to do. We walked over to the closet. Starting with underwear, I picked out a Maidenform bra that had a pink rose between the cups. I also picked out a pair of panties with “Jailbait” embroidered on the crotch. I added knee high white socks, a white button down blouse, and navy blue pleated skirt. As a last thought I fashioned a school tie round her neck for her. She’s never seen one before.
While she got dressed, I brushed her hair again and told her what I was looking for. We started the shoot looking like she was walking in from a day of school, carrying a couple of books under her arm. She would put the books down, and sit on the bed. I then did the shoot looking as if she was playing strip poker with an unseen person. The poker hands shown in the foreground in each picture would show she was wearing an article less of clothing.
My dick was very hard when she was down to the underwear. When she was nude, I had her lay back and spread her legs. Then I told Muffy to spread her pussy lips. I moved in for a close up and took a picture of the cherry, not a large one and very tucked away in a slender hood, I was about to pop. Then I unzipped and took my dick out. She squeaked a protesting why? I told her I needed one last picture to finish the piece. I placed my dick next to her pussy and took a picture of it about to enter her swiftly laying the camera down.
“You sure about this? You didn’t say ... Ohhhhhh! No”, she whimpered as just my knob end entered at which point I stopped.
I told her she would get an extra payment for extra work, then banged hard. She gasped, then yelped as I popped her cherry, biting her lower lip, tears forming in her eyes. As my dick went in her I told her I knew she wasn’t eighteen, she had committed a criminal act, and she had better take the shag quietly or I would tell the police about the fake identification, and fraudulently trying to get an adult job. Quite frankly I didn’t know where I stood legally, but didn’t care and taking a gamble I ploughed on hard, fast and as deep as possible.
Gently sobbing or was it pleasurable gasping? but she did hold my shoulders as I pumped Muffy’s tight little bloody muff, which gripped my dick like a vice. I hadn’t popped a cherry in a while and it felt good. I came in fitful spurts as I pumped five shots up her. When I finished and I lay on top, taking my weight soaking in her bloody mott, until we sat up. I counted out a hundred notes, giving her the promised bonus. Then I asked her why she needed the money. I had just forced myself on her. I didn’t think she would tell me anything, but I think the bonus money opened her up.
She told me that she and her young sister had runaway from home in Walsall, because their mother was a drunk, and her stepdad beat her and her sister every day. They rode in a National Express bus to get to Winchester, and were now living in a not official waifs and strays hostel who were threatening to throw them out because they were behind on rent. I was surprised that the hostel management hadn’t made a sex offer, but I guess it was only about the money and maybe they had enough cheap shags such was the flow of trafficing these day. I looked the place up later and it was run by two old cronies of indeterminate nationality. I told her she could keep the outfit I dressed her in because it might help her find a job. As she quietly folded it, I asked if she needed a ride back to the hostel.
“Yes, please”, she answered.
It was a seedy joint. I was concerned for the safety of her and her sister. I asked Muffy if I could pick her up in the morning, because I’d like to take pictures of her little sister. Arrangements for nine in the morning transpired.
The next morning, I met Lena. Lena looked vastly different from her older sister. She stood four foot two with short wavy dirty and I mean dirty blonde hair, blue eyes, and a very pale complexion. As the two girls got in the car, they were chatterboxes. Both of them thanked me for being able to pay their rent – not a lot and having their first real breakfast in a while. I ‘d stopped at a McDonald on the way out of town They were all aglow about the stacks of pancakes, the whipped cream, and strawberries. It was, for them, like living a dream. When we parked and got to the studio, Muffy said she was going to continue looking for work. I took Lena into the studio, knowing her big sister had fully explained everything. I knew right away what I wanted to do. I had a little Bo Peep outfit I wanted her to put on, I was on a bit of an exciteable high so overlooked the unkempt dirty hair.