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

by Lindsey Bedder

  Yeah I knew I was blushing. My entire body felt like one giant blush.

  “It’s to make this more natural,” I said, as if I could really control my blushes. “Can you see me holding his cock?”

  Because after all, what would be the point of me jerking on this stranger’s dick, if it wasn’t going to be in RJ’s artistic pictures?

  “No. It’s all blocked, but don’t worry.” He shifted positions and kept snapping. “It’s, erm, heavily implied. It will be communicated subtly to the rest of the photographs, based on how you’re standing and how he’s responding.”

  “Oh, right,” I said. “That’s good.”

  “Rebecca? Rebecca, can you hear me? Hold on to him tight. Give him something to pull against, and thrust against as you bring him off.”

  “Okay,” I said. “Good idea.”

  Then I gave up trying to talk. I rearranged my expression to show pleasure, distraction, desire. I left it all out there for the pictures. Between our kisses, when I wasn’t giving Joseph my mouth, I relaxed against his whole-body thrusts and watched our audience through slitted eyes.

  By this point, I had all the same guys, and several new ones. Guys I knew from the dorm hallways, from my classes. The guys who knew my schedule and were always nearby when I hit the coffee shop to road test my fashion creations. I had the building staff, including the nice maintenance guy and his cousin who really liked hugging. All of them were watching me. It wasn’t subtle anymore. They were watching openly.

  And why not? This was a photo shoot. It was in public, it was interesting. They had every right to watch, so they did.

  They watched me.

  Their eyes tracked up my braced legs, which were damp and glistening with sweat. They tracked over Joseph’s fist curled in my pussy. They tracked how my chest rocked with each thrust. Their eyes tracked over the arm I’d bent behind me, and they could see my biceps flex each time I yanked that cock. Their eyes floated over my face—my damp brow, open mouth, my eyes that met theirs, my expression that confessed I knew everything they were seeing.

  Their cell phones were seeing everything too, but I couldn’t worry about that. Amateur photographers—a nuisance for models everywhere. As if I had the spare attention to make sure I looked good in all those different viewfinders. It comes with the territory, I told myself, nothing I can do about it. If they were unhappy with their crappy pictures and video, they could hire me like anybody else.

  “Keep going, he’s almost there.” RJ knelt for an upward angle of my front.

  I’ll come out and say it: Thank goodness for RJ and his camera! He legitimized this whole scene. Without a photographer, this would have all looked so bad! It could have been humiliating! As it was, I knew we were probably in a race with the campus police. They frown on drunk show-offs, as I discovered last year, and they refused to factor in cameras when breaking up a scene.

  Then Joseph sank one more finger into my pussy and erased the rest of my thoughts. I soaked his palm like a ripe peach. I spun against his palm like a cotton candy machine.

  In response, his cock swelled in my grasp. I held on for dear life as his hips bucked into me.

  *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click*

  Waves and sheets of pleasure coalesced, grew tight, and pulled across my nerves. Each time Joseph or I moved, it plucked one of those strings, or strummed a dozen. My body was humming, musical.

  I got a good, tight grip on Joseph’s cock right before he came. I didn’t plan it that way. I didn’t know he was coming. He just suddenly gasped, and jetted all over my wrist. The next spurt hit even further up my arm, and sprinkled the small of my back.

  *Click* *Click* *Click*

  In the photographs, if you study them closely, it’s clear that we’d reached a peak. The woman’s body—my body—is tightly tuned, her rippling muscles in stark relief. Her neck and shoulders strained with tension. Her head is thrown back, hair everywhere, with eyes closed and my mouth open.

  Joseph jetted endlessly onto me, hot cum coating my hand, arm, and back.

  I came at the same time, every muscle locking. Maybe I made a sound.

  I know I made a sound. I mewled with pleasure and let it grow. I didn’t want the camera to catch me trying to hide or swallow back my moan. It would have put tension on my face—a strange, strained expression right when everything had to be perfect. I moaned right next to his ear.

  His hand went crazy in my snatch, partly from loss of control, partly because my reaction intensified his own. I came in surges, crying out sharply. My body rolled like the ocean and I couldn’t control it.

  Playing to the Crowds

  *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click*

  Ripper Jack, magnificent photographer that he was, captured the most perfect milliseconds of my whole long orgasm. Each photo was perfectly timed, perfectly composed. He even captured the light on the flexing muscles of my inner thighs, and the shadows cast by the crowd of people surrounding us.

  I caught my breath and came back to myself.

  “Jack, I’m sorry!” I said.

  “For what? That was perfect.” He was still clicking away.

  My instincts slowly came online. I found myself subtly posing again, responding to his movements. It was like RJ and I were locked in an intimate dance that nobody else could see.

  “We both sort of, well… ” I shrugged, embarrassed.

  RJ slowed, a perplexed look on his face.

  “I mean, it was sort of unprofessional,” I finished. “Sorry, I came.”

  “Ah,” he said finally. “Well, it’s understandable. You did very well, right until the end. You took it right to the edge, and anything can happen there. Even when you came, you still looked good.”

  “Really?” I was so relieved. “How did we do?”

  Joseph wriggled out from behind me, buttoning his shorts. Without another word to me, he turned to his friends, raised his hands, and cheered. High-fives all around, like the whole posse had just won an ultimate frisbee match.

  I was exhilarated too. A good modeling session can be incredibly gratifying.

  “You were unbelievable, honey,” RJ answered, when the noise died down.

  I have to confess, I felt a little important and famous, with all those people around. These were people I saw every day, and now they’d seen me working to my full potential: Edgy sexy hot high-fashion Rebecca. It was an amazing confidence builder… the only thing better than being awesome, is being awesome when people are watching. Unless I was grossly mistaken, this photoshoot was now my unique cool factor in the dorm.

  I gleamed my best smile at all of them, and brushed the hair out of my face with both hands.

  “Oops!” I blurted.

  RJ glanced up, gave a start, and raised his camera quickly.

  *Click* *Click* *Click*

  My hand and arm were still drenched with Joseph’s cum, and I’d just transferred it to my face. I was now covered in his sticky, white ejaculate.

  “Why does this always happen?” I cried.

  Any cell phones that had been lowered now rose again, pointed my way.

  “Wait!” cried Joseph, when I started wiping it away. “Let me get a shot!”

  Too funny! I waited with my best “I’m such a goof!” smile, my cum-coated hand next to my cum-coated face.

  *Click* *Click* *Click*

  A line of cum drooled past my nose and over my lips. When they saw, everybody leaned in to get a picture of that, too.

  *Click* *Click*

  Without thinking, I licked my lips.

  *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click*

  I realized what I’d done, and covered my face, trying to keep from laughing uncontrollably. I know it might seem strange, but being caught laughing would have been a problem! Models always look strange when they’re caught in a laugh.

  Of course, covering my face only shifted even more of Joseph’s cum to my cheek, temple, and jaw, and I was worse off than before.

  At that moment, RJ took another o
f my favorite photos. I know it’s strange to say, because all that semen was proof that I’d categorically lost control of a modeling shoot, and that I’d had a blatantly unprofessional moment. I should hate that picture with a passion. Yet, that picture made it into RJ’s mid-term art show, for which he scored an “A.” I put it on my tumblr blog as proof that I can smile, and from there it escaped into the boundless Internet.

  If you’ve only seen one picture of me online, it’s probably that one.

  In the photograph, the girl—me!—is damp and disheveled, hemmed in by people. All of them are turned her direction, their faces lit and damp. It’s a carnival atmosphere. The girl in the photo is pulling her hand away from her face. She’s stretching out strings of cum that connect her fingers to her cheek. She’s smiling a big, beautiful, open smile.

  I’m that girl. I’m the girl with the perfect, glossy lips, despite some smeared lipstick. She has big, luscious lashes. Her eyes are bright, looking up and away, with cheerful humiliation. Her reddened cheeks are bunched around a happy, self-conscious, embarrassed smile. And why is the girl smiling? That’s clear too, from the white gobs of cum covering her face. It’s clear that this hot model had a big oops moment, and it’s hilarious, and she still looks delectable even when she’s a mess.

  I hate smiling on camera, so I have almost no pictures of my smile. You only ever see me with my smirk, my sneer, my duck-face, or my open-mouthed laugh.

  Yet, that picture, with me smiling like a lunatic, might just be one of my favorites. Rebecca, after killing her first modeling shoot, and confirming what she wants to do for the rest of her life—Rebecca is still a goofy clutz who can make everybody laugh. My best picture is an unposed, stolen snapshot. A frickin’ candid.

  I eventually gave up playing with the cum. It wasn’t going anywhere, and no way was I going to shovel the rest into my mouth, even with all those guys chanting. I just left it there for the time being, and hoped it wouldn’t drip onto my club dress.

  My dress, oh no. My dress was my homework for class. A critical grade!

  I quickly checked it out. I’d have to fix a seam on the skirt, which had started to burst. Apart from that, it looked none the worse for wear.

  I also noticed my panties were still down, and my chest was still bare.

  “Don’t fix it yet,” RJ commanded. “Turn around and show us your back.”

  Oh, right! Joseph had sprayed my back with cum, too. If I wasn’t careful, the drops would combine and run down my ass to the dress. Was it even possible to clean this weird prismatic fabric? Maybe the cum had already started staining it!

  “Oh, shit!” I exclaimed, then clapped my hand over my open mouth.

  *Click* *Click* *Click* *Click*

  Cheers from Joseph and his friends.

  For me, it was immediate regret. My hand was covered in cum.

  “Shit, Rebecca, you’re a big mess when it comes to cum,” RJ teased. “Show us your cum-covered lips.”

  I shook my head, eyes wide, hand still over my mouth. Sure, it would be cute, but a model should have some limits. At some point, the pictures of me in the middle of a crowd, with cum covering my face, might be misinterpreted in the worst way. I had a career to think about.

  Instead, I did the more mature and modest thing. I turned to show RJ my bare ass and back, all coated with jism. Everybody was immediately distracted and had to get more pictures. I was ordered to tilt my ass out for them, then cock my hip. I received a lot of direction, and not just from RJ! I didn’t mind. For a while, all those other guys got a taste of what it’s like working with a real model.

  Meanwhile, my mouth was full of Joseph’s sperm, because I had clapped my hand over my open mouth. I couldn’t spit it out—that would be too gross for words—so I swallowed it, and then quickly licked my lips clean. I hoped nobody noticed.

  “Jack, can I finally cover up?”

  RJ was reviewing the images on his camera, and nodded absently. I was finally able to pull my panties up, tug my skirt down, and shift my dress back over my breasts. Truth be told, I didn’t feel too different, all covered up. Yet another positive sign that I was turning into a real model. We have no body shame, we just have no time for it.

  I didn’t even feel ashamed when the pictures and videos hit Snapchat, Youtube, Pornhub, and wherever else people tagged me on Facebook. The Internet storm started about ten minutes after the shoot, when I was hiding out from a pair of campus police officers prowling the halls. I hid in plain sight, in the meet-and-greet party, wiping cum off my face with a napkin. The Po-po got nowhere with their search for the “drunken porn star.” Nobody answered their questions—I’ve never felt so in.

  All those Internet videos would have been humiliating, except RJ was running a photo shoot. Without RJ, I would have looked terrible, so he basically saved my ass. After some initial misconceptions, I think the Internet also understood. My Instagram following doubled, then tripled, then tripled again as new batches of videos were uploaded.

  After a life of dreaming, my career had well and truly begun. In fact, it was off to a psycho start. And all thanks to a drop-dead gorgeous latino photographer who only wanted me as a friend.

  Part III

  Secrets Revealed

  Ripper Jack's Roommates

  Ripper Jack’s house became my home away from home. I spent so much time over there, you’d think we hadn’t friend-zoned each other half to death. I still had hopes for us, quietly buried hopes, simply from all the attention he lavished on me. I was his constant model for all his projects. He called me “babe” like it meant something. I’d simply die if he ever went out with another girl.

  I also just liked his place. It was clean, classy, and full of interesting things, like RJ himself. As the weeks progressed, his framed photos of me slowly edged out the other women on the wall.

  Some of my pictures were so risqué that even I blushed when I saw them. I had to constantly explain the concept behind them, because RJ entertained a constant stream of visitors: Tough-looking friends from his pre-college life. Customers for his car-repair side business. Even, increasingly, buyers for his photographs.

  Then one day I strode in, exhausted from classes, wanting nothing but a shower and a foot rub—and that fucking RJ had taken roommates! Oh no he didn’t! Roommates would put a crimp in all my plans.

  “You didn’t even ask me first,” I complained.

  “Rebecca, you’re my model. I don’t have to consult with you how I pay my rent.”

  “You don’t, I guess,” I grudged, “but it would have been nice. You know how I walk around at your place.”

  “I certainly do. But being surrounded by strangers never stopped you before. The looks I get, after you walk through the room! My friends from the hood thought you were a whore.”

  “A whore!” I smirked. “That’s sweet of them.”

  “Not if you think about it objectively.”

  “I mean, it’s flattering. They’re saying men would pay me money for sex.”

  “Yes, that’s the definition of a whore.”

  “Do your friends want to buy me?”

  “Shit, Rebecca!” RJ rolled his eyes, but I could see he was turned on. Since we started working together, I had slowly pieced him together from hints and clues. If only I were paying this much attention in my classes! It was one reason I was at his place all the time. He was like a video game, and I could only unlock his secrets through hours of gameplay.

  “Look, babe,” he said, “college is expensive, and I’m not picking up mechanic work because all my time goes to classes. It’s either roommates, or I sell your ass on the streets.”

  I laughed too loudly, shook my head, but then shrugged. Maybe that discovery thing worked two ways. Now, whenever I talked about being a whore, he talked it right back, like we were goading each other.

  I shifted the conversation out of the gutter. “So you have roommates now. Fine. Nothing I can do about it. So what does that mean? Can I hang out naked only in y
our room now?” I cringed at how that sounded, and then I cringed again at his unwholesome grin.

  “As platonic female friends go, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

  “Yeah, I’m a great ‘buddy,’” I said sourly.

  “Come meet them, Rebecca.” He grabbed my hand. “You’ll see they’re not so bad.”

  “Should I wear this?” I checked myself in his closet mirror. It was a silk romper, cut a bit short over the ass in back, with spaghetti straps and triangles over my breasts. Another of my creations, for which I got an A in my design class.

  RJ barely glanced at me. “Lose the bra,” he advised. “I told you before, you don’t need bras.”

  “The bra is part of the look, silly. It’s supposed to be visible.” Nonetheless, I snapped out of it and dropped it on his bed, where he’d have to interact with it later. Dizzying cleavage in the mirror, now. In terms of modesty, I couldn’t bend from the waist without showing my ass in back, or my entire torso in front.

  “Great, just great,” I groaned. “Now I can’t bow.”

  “Funny girl.” RJ grabbed my hand and led me out to meet his roommates.

  There wasn’t much to say to Ameet. He shook my hand shyly and wouldn’t meet my eyes, though I had to work to get my hand back.

  Randy was a different story. He was a blonde, ruggedly cute surfer dude who was going through a pile of 6x4 prints from one of my modeling sessions. In the days to come, I’d learn that he was a slob, he would steal my food (meaning RJ’s) from the refrigerator, and he always had his friends over. Still, I liked him because of that first meeting. When he looked up from the prints, he did a double-take, and then jumped off the chair and gave me the most comprehensive, exploratory embrace I’d ever received. When he learned that RJ and I weren’t together, and that I was freeloading just like him, those hugs became a daily, sometimes hourly thing.

  The roommates seemed like nice guys, in that I dazzled one and tongue-tied the other. Still, I had a sense of foreboding about the whole deal—foreboding that was magnified when I constantly caught myself bending over in front of them that first evening. They introduced complexity. They made me self-conscious right when I had started to glory in being unselfconscious. I’d probably make a mistake with one or both of them, and destroy whatever delicate potential I had with RJ.