After class, I trailed the handsome male into the hallway after the other students had disbursed.
“Hi Professor Lang,” I said sweetly, throwing my blonde hair over my shoulder.
“Hey,” he said glancing my way. “Hey,” he said more forcefully, doing a double take. That happens to me a lot. As a nubile undergrad, I was bursting with health and beauty and guys often look at me with renewed interest once they get a glimpse of my curves.
“I was wondering if I could stop by later today for some review?” I asked with a flirtatious smile. “The stuff you explained today … the concepts were tough,” I added.
“Well,” the good professor hemmed and hawed, “office hours are usually Thursday and it’s only Tuesday today ….”
“Please?” I asked plaintively. “If I wait until Thursday there will be more material and I’ll just be more confused. Plus, the TA doesn’t have office hours until Friday, so I really have no way to clear this stuff up before moving forwards.”
I could see him relenting, his mind doing a furious calculation of Hot Co-ed + Intermediate Economics + Doing my Job + Potential for Exploration (naughty!).
“Alright, come by at three,” he said, his eyes glinting. “Have your questions ready, I only have half an hour before a faculty meeting.”
“Oh of course, Professor,” I said. “I already know what I need,” I added with a saucy smile before skating away, my mini-skirt swaying as I wiggled my hips.
And that, reader, is how I got straight A’s. Professor Lang and I engaged in a torrid affair which ended after graduation, the minute after he hacked into the University database and modified my transcript. It was fun, really, having a man wrapped around my finger, willing to do anything.
“Joseph,” I admonished while the professor knelt between my legs, supplicating and worshipful. “Make sure to suck hard on my clit, I want to feel some real tension there.”
And he’d merely moaned in response, breathing in my female scent, his cock a bulge in his pants as I spread my legs wider, hooking my panties over my engorged nether lips, baring my steaming cunny. He was almost drooling with need, eager to dive into my snatch to sample my honey.
“Yes Mistress,” he whispered, staring at my puss avidly while touching himself, pulling that fuckpole out, its length twitching at its proximity to nubile womanflesh. And sure enough, the Professor did an amazing job with the oral, suckling my nub with vigorous ardor, making sure I came multiple times on his tongue before burying that hard shaft in my soft folds, my puss clenching with ecstasy as he pounded me again and again.
“More Professor, more more more!” I squealed, throwing my head back in ecstasy, screaming with pleasure as he drilled me. “X plus 2Y equals R! Sum of S to the tenth degree is N!”
It was so laughable, spewing nonsensical theorems, but hey, different strokes for different folks right? And for the sexy professor, that’s what got him off, girls, math, and equations. With a mighty groan, he emptied into me, pumping white into my burning insides, coating me with viscous, virile sperm, his trim body shaking with lust and release as he emptied into my body.
So people were shocked when I was admitted to top-tier law schools. I’ve always come off as a blonde bimbo, and even my so-called friends were surprised. “What?” gasped Kim Marsh. “How did you get into Stanford Law? You never study. In fact, didn’t you get a D in Econometrics last year?”
Of course I had, but I wasn’t about to tell her that my entire transcript had been faked.
“Yeah, I guess I just had a really good reference letters,” I purred. In fact, I’d read Professor Lang’s letter which raved about my “stellar intellect” and “inestimable abilities.” It was laughable. More like my dripping pussy and big, bouncy boobs had paved the way.
“Hope you do just as well in the admissions game,” I’d tossed off to Kim insincerely, spinning about and leaving her gawking.
But of course, my sister suspected something was off. When I called, Tina was wary and unforthcoming.
“Alright Jenna, where are you planning on matriculating?” she asked slowly.
“I dunno, where are you?” I responded. Her answer meant more to me than she knew.
“Well, I just mailed my deposit into Stanford Law School,” she said slowly. “They have a great tax program and you know how I’ve always been interested in corporate shield and all that.”
I sighed. Tina was so boring. Law school was an opportunity to meet men, all these glorious, hard-bodied young graduate students who’d likely move onto lucrative careers. And I was secretly elated. Didn’t a ton of entrepreneurs come out of Stanford? I mean, all the billionaire tech moguls were Stanford drop-outs right?
“What a coincidence!” I said gleefully. “That’s where I’m headed this fall too.”
Tina was silent in reply, giving out a soft sigh.
“I guess I’ll see you there, Jen,” before hanging up with a soft click.
But my twin’s presence was more important to me than just sisterly support. Come fall, I pressed my advantage, relying on Tina for everything … driving me to class, taking notes, even cribbing off of her papers once in a while, without her knowledge of course. She was the perfect fallback, I didn’t even need to charm nerdy boys into doing my work for me.
But it all blew up when it came to Jake Sterling. CEO of Sterling Pharma, my sister and I had attended a party in the City and I thought I’d snagged him. I’d made a beeline as soon as he appeared, the newest billionaire in Silicon Valley, and we’d done some dirty dancing with a vague promise to “meet up again” after the party ended.
And I’d worked it to the max, spinning one date into two, two into three, until we were a couple. But unbeknownst to me, Tina had actually slept with him at that damned party! I mean, gimme a break. The twenty minutes when I wasn’t watching my man like a hawk, and my twin snuck in and got pregnant by the billionaire on her first try. It was unbelievable, like the worst nightmare from hell.
So my sister and I are estranged now, after Jake broke off our engagement to be with his baby mama.
“I can’t believe this is happening,” I spat to my mom. “This is so fucked up, what kind of sister does this to you?”
My mom looked at me reprovingly. I guess since she’s known me since birth, she knows how vengeful and spiteful I can be on occasion. But this was an instance where it was deserved. I swear, my twin ran off with my man, how messed up is that?
“Jenna,” she said gently. “You’re beautiful but surely you can see how much Jake and Tina love each other. Maybe you were there first, but the heart wants what it wants, and Jake wants Tina.”
This wasn’t helpful at all.
“Whose side are you on, Mom?” I screeched. “I did nothing wrong! It was all her! Tina makes herself out to be such a goody two-shoes but inside, she’s dirty and corrupt, she’d do anything to get her way.”
My mom only sighed.
“Jenna, maybe you should take a closer look at yourself,” she advised. “Just because you’re pretty doesn’t mean that life is going to be easy.”
“Is that a warning?” I’d sneered. “Shit happens Mom, I know, but this was really beyond the pale.”
“Take another look at yourself,” my mom urged. “Work on yourself first, really look inside and figure out what you want, what will make you happy. And don’t throw stones if you live in a house of glass.”
Whatever. These platitudes and old sayings were too much to bear, they just made people feel worse without actually being helpful.
“Fine Mom, I will,” I said shortly, ending the conversation. But my mind had already turned to other things because right now, I just needed money. I’d been living on Jake’s largesse for the past couple months, reveling in a luxurious lifestyle and clearly that was over. But I couldn’t bear going back to being a penniless grad student either, so I began calling around.
I’d seen an ad in the student paper for a modeling gig a few days back, and I knew I was photoge
nic. Maybe I’d check that out, it’d beat being a teaching assistant or some waitress job for sure.
“Hi, I’m inquiring about the modeling job I saw in Craigslist,” I dialed the number. “The one where the girls promote a premium craft beer?”
“Oh right,” said the disembodied voice on the other end. “Are you five two and Latina?”
“Not exactly,” I said slowly. “I’m blonde and five nine.”
“Then no can-do,” said the voice. “Premia Modela is geared to the Latino market, we’re only looking for girls with spice.”
Um, okay, they could have said that in the ad. But if the WASP look wasn’t what you were looking for, then fine, I’d move on. After a couple more calls, I finally got a bite.
“Hi, I’m calling about the modeling ad in the paper,” I said in a clipped voice, my temper short. “The one that pays two hundred per hour,” I said emphatically.
This whole process had been far more annoying than I thought. You’d think that being blonde and hot would open plenty of doors, but that hadn’t been the case with these gigs so far.
“Oh right,” said the silky voice in response. “And may I ask your cup size please?”
Cup size? They asked this stuff straight off the bat? But I had nothing to hide.
“Double Ds,” I said shortly. “Not natural.” I really wasn’t holding back on the nastiness.
“And height and weight?” she positively purred.
“Five nine and one twenty,” I snapped. “Listen, should I come in or what? You’re not going to get anywhere with stats, I could be a wretched hag for all you know.”
The voice wasn’t perturbed by my rude behavior. “Of course, honey,” the woman said sweetly. “Why don’t you come by tomorrow at 11 a.m.? It’s 243 Divisadero Street. Bring two bikinis,” she added. “One in black and one in red.”
“Wait, I didn’t know I had to provide the clothes,” I shot back, but it was too late. The woman had hung up and I was stuck going to the mall later today. WTF? I thought models sold outfits, not supplied them. But it was too late now, and two hundred dollars per hour was cash that I desperately needed.
CHAPTER THREE
Jenna
I showed up at Divisadero Street, looking around dumbfounded. There were only warehouses here, nothing to indicate a professional photography studio or anything artistic. Instead, it was clearly an industrial area, everything grey, from the sky to the asphalt, the faceless buildings grimy and dirty. Oh god.
I found the bell to number 243 and rang the buzzer, the electric squawk making me jump. Chilled, I rubbed my arms, hunching my shoulders against the cold San Francisco wind.
After a pause, after which I can only assume I was surveyed by the camera in the corner, the door clicked and I was able to shoulder the steel-reinforced door open. There was a steep, narrow staircase going upwards and I tiredly hoisted my bag over my shoulder, trudging upstairs.
The truth is I’ve been studying out of boredom and necessity. I’d been cribbing off of Tina before and obviously, that wasn’t an option anymore given our contentious relationship. Plus the girls I’d always thought of my “friends” at law school were curiously dismissive.
“Oh yeah, your bridal shower, I’m so sorry to hear about that,” said Courtney from my contract law class. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
“Well, I’d love to be taken out to dinner,” I’d hinted. “It’d mean a lot to me.” I’d just been publicly shamed with the break-up of my engagement, and I was hoping some girls would band together and take me out, make me feel like a princess.
But Courtney was curiously evasive.
“I’m sorry Jenna, I’m just so busy,” she said. “Henry’s got exams too, we’re both trying to cram before things really get hectic.”
That made no sense to me. She’d had time to come to my bridal shower but had no time for a regular dinner? Plus she hated Henry, she was always begging me to set her up with one of Jake’s millionaire friends.
But I guess once I didn’t have the Jake connection, Courtney’s hopes of marrying rich had gone up in flames and she saw no reason to invest in our friendship anymore. She’d hemmed and hawed some more and I’d let it go because there was nothing else to be said. She clearly wasn’t interested in hanging out unless I had a hook-up to wealthy dudes.
Sadly, that’s how it was with a lot of my so-called friends. They disappeared like smoke once my broken engagement became widely known, giving the most random excuses and not returning calls.
And so I ended up studying instead, making the most of my time alone. I could have gone on the prowl immediately, started looking for another man, but my reputation was already damaged enough. It’s not every day your sister steals your billionaire fiancé out from under your nose, and even I recognized that a break was needed to let the drama dispel before I started up hot and heavy with a new guy.
But studying doesn’t pay money and so here I was, lugging my bag to this modeling gig or whatever it was. Given the dingy surroundings, things didn’t bode well.
Finally at the top of the stairs was another steel-reinforced door, this one just as heavy and imposing. However, as soon as I reached to knock I heard the lock click open, surveillance cameras whirring towards me once again.
I pushed open the massive steel and was greeted by a wave of warmth. Thank god, it was chilly and I was shivering, so the humid heat was a welcome respite. There were blinding lights and I put up a hand to shield my face. Holy shit, those were Krieg lights blasting a bright, white glare onto everything on the stark floor space.
And inside, multiple cars were parked, how they’d gotten them up onto the second level, I have no idea. Lambos, Ferraris, Maseratis, you name them, they were all there. The staff was there too … photographers, assistants, make-up people, and … costumers, if you could call them that.
Because the models were barely dressed, some altogether nude except for stripper heels. They sprawled across the vehicles, posing provocatively, and there was even one redhead straddling the door to a fire-red sports car, grinding against it, letting her bare pussy do the talking as she moaned for the crew, cameras flashing.
Was that moisture I saw on the leather? Sure enough, the redhead was turned on, her pussy spilling its wet secrets onto the pebbled material.
Holy cow … did they expect this of me too?
CHAPTER FOUR
Jenna
“You must be Jenna,” purred a melodious female voice. “I’m Deborah.” I turned, more in shock than anything else. A middle-aged brunette strode confidently towards me, perfectly groomed in an elegant but sexy black suit, her hair swept up into a chignon. She was fully dressed, thank god.
“Yes, that’s me,” I stammered, looking down at my feet. It was unlike me to be shy, but then again I’m not confronted with rampant nudity all the time.
The woman chuckled throatily at my obvious discomfort.
“You’re beautiful honey, you’ll fit right in,” she said soothingly. With a more critical eye, she added, “Hmmm, tall, slim, big boobs, long blonde hair … just the ticket. Patrick!” she called off in the distance, “come take a look at the goods.”
I bridled a bit. The goods? I was a woman, not some inanimate object, but I checked myself. You know what? I was an aspiring model, “the product” so to say, out to make money off of my looks and my body, getting paid cold hard cash to sell cars. I could do this.
A curly-haired guy ambled over, rail-thin, scruffy looking in raggedy clothes.
“This it?” he said, giving me the once over casually.
“Yeah, this is our new girl,” purred Deborah. “Isn’t she delicious?”
I shot Deborah a suspicious look. No way was I interested in anything lesbian and this woman was giving me weird vibes.
But she just laughed again throatily and said, “Patrick is our wardrobe assistant. He’ll be helping you with your outfits, making sure they fit right, alterations and all that good stuff. You brought the bik
inis? Black and red? Oh good, you’ll match the Lambo over there.”
I turned and saw the sexiest car I’d ever seen. Gleaming red paint, so low-slung the chassis almost hit the floor. The tires were oversized and the car was fitted with a double-valve exhaust and three-inch spoiler. I was in love.
Both Deborah and Patrick laughed to see me gawking over an inanimate object, my lust obvious.
“You’ll be a good model if you can emote that in front of the camera,” advised Patrick. “Let’s head over to the dressing area and take a look at what you’ve brought.”
I followed him to an area of the floor that had a canvas modesty curtain draped over a small corner space. Pulling open my bag, I took out the black and red bikinis, the scraps of fabric nothing but the tiniest band-aids. They’d cover next to nothing.
But Patrick looked them over thoughtfully.
“Put on the red one,” he said, fingering the glimmery fabric in his hands slowly. “It’ll look great under the lights. Plus, it’s smaller,” he said with an odd expression.
Hmm, my spidey sense was going off but I did as he told. I slipped out of my clothes and pulled on the bikini, making sure to double-knot the strings behind my neck and at my hips. Don’t want to lose control of those babies! I slipped my feet into four-inch heels Patrick had handed me and slipped out from behind the curtain.
“This way!” called a strange man with a camera draped around his neck. He gestured to the Lamborghini. God, that car was calling my name and I almost tripped over myself, rushing to the gleaming metal.
Drawing on my inner siren, I posed against the door seductively, leaning forward provocatively so that the inner swells of my breasts thrust forward, the creaminess delicious and beckoning.
“Fantastic!” growled the photographer. He was a paunchy, middle-aged dude, wearing a beret like a serious artiste, and gestured for a lighting guy to come closer, holding a silver reflective surface strategically so that it hit my curves.
I could tell that I looked good, the refracted light gleaming off of my golden skin, and I went with it. I struck a couple of poses, swaying my hips, pushing my butt out, making sure my rear-end was a shelf of goodness, the curves lush and firm at once.
Double Exposure: A Dark MMF Bisexual Romance Page 22