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

by Lindsey Bedder

  I steadied him over me. His nearly erect cock slapped my stomach, and his balls rested against my panty-covered mound. He released my breasts, and wrapped his arms around my torso, bringing his face to my chest.

  He gnawed at my tits, mumbling, “Whore, whore, whore...”

  I sent a “good grief!” look to RJ, who was no help. He fiddled with his camera, changing settings.

  “Those are great expressions, Rebecca! It’s like you’re loathing this and not loving it. Try to keep it going. Archibald, leave some space over her body, will you?”

  To tell the truth, this was one of those rare occasions where I wasn’t completely enjoying the attention—I mean, immersed in the work. Not that it should matter to a model, but Archibald wasn’t my type, and I’m not exactly picky. I have a lot of types. I think his personality turned me off the most.

  His over-enthusiastic mouth worked its way up my chest and neck, leaving a trail of glinting saliva. Not photogenic. I stopped the lick-fest the only way I could. Grabbing him by the ears, I moved him to my mouth, where he immediately fastened on my lips.

  “Move your hands!” RJ snapped, “you’re blocking his face.”

  I let go, and Archibald managed to stay on my mouth. He rocked from side to side, his drunk eyes unfocused and even pointing in different directions.

  I had to crane my neck to keep my mouth under his, otherwise he would have slid off and face-planted in the pillow beside my head. I followed his mouth around, trying to look receptive, submissive, desirable, and not repulsed. Archibald reamed my mouth. He chewed my lips, licked my cheeks, and lapped at my tongue. Before long, the lower half of my face was slick and shiny.

  You’re a good whore, Bad Rebecca whispered in my ear. Another spark of excitement rilled across my nerves. It was a brief, fugitive thought, completely unprofessional, but it kept me in the game so I could focus on being the best whore I could be. I mean model.

  *Click* *Click*

  Suddenly, I had pressure against my panties, again. Archibald’s lower torso surged between my legs, sending waves of heat from my pussy through my stomach.

  “Man, this is surreal.” Randy was beside us, propped up on his elbow. Every now and then, when there was an opening, he reached over and stroked my nipples with his free hand. “Archibald is mauling her.”

  Archibald paused, breathing hard in my face. “Well, I have a time limit. Besides, when am I going to get this kind of tail again? She’s basically a fashion model!”

  Damn right, I agreed. I’m basically that.

  Randy shrugged. “You might get another chance with Rebecca the next time she drinks.”

  “That’s very nice,” I said sarcastically.

  But Archibald wasn’t listening, he was talking. “I mean, for every class assignment, Ripper Jack puts this chick’s pictures in the projector. Splashes them up on the wall, twelve feet high. Everybody just groans. We all want her. Her tight ass, her fuckin’ slammin’ body, her huge tits that point straight out.”

  He paused, and I wasn’t sure if I should respond. He seemed to be talking mostly to himself, as he surged up and down my body.

  “I don’t need a bra,” I told him.

  “You sure don’t. No way in hell should you wear a bra ever.” He glanced over to Randy. “Dude, you don’t understand: this chick is always in class, or waiting for Ripper Jack afterwards, and everybody is always checking her out. She’s always in some tiny flip-up skirt, or a blouse that’s unbuttoned to her stomach, or see-through yoga pants. She has a muscle shirt that barely keeps her tits in. It’s always sliding off her shoulder and or flapping open. One day I passed her in the Student Union, and she was wearing a crocheted top that showed everything!”

  Archibald thrust his crotch against mine. He was up on his arms now, staring down at my wet, open mouth and my tits.

  My panties had long since shifted to the side, leaving me exposed to his bare cock. His dick slid smoothly over my mound, not inside me, but between my lips, and its thick veins thrummed across my clit like an all-knowing tongue.

  *Click* *Click* *Click*

  RJ focused the camera momentarily on my pussy. He saw how Archibald was moving, and how I was moving in response.

  “You can’t fuck her, Archibald,” he said suddenly.

  I was surprised, but didn’t show it. One of RJ’s rules for his projects is that there are no limits. Everything has to feel natural, rising entirely from the moment. I guess that philosophy went out the window with a guy he despised.

  I wondered what that indicated, really. Was RJ sparing me, out of feelings he had? Or was he simply withholding my pussy from this guy because he didn’t like him?

  Archibald cared about the limit less than I did. He nodded briefly and continued his narration. “Then last night, there she is on the sidewalk. Our famous Rebecca. Internet sensation. Daily snapchat queen, guys taking her picture and she doesn’t even notice it.”

  I’d noticed the pictures, alright. I’d gotten so used to seeing cameras and phones out of the corners of my eyes, I almost felt nervous when they weren’t there.

  “There’s our Rebecca, on the sidewalk, making a huge scene outside the bar at 2am. She’s drunk. She’s yelling that she wants to suck someone’s dick. It doesn’t matter whose.”

  I groaned in mortification.

  “‘I’ll suck you off for five dollars,’ she was yelling. ‘You can even make a video!’”

  “Shit, really?” I glanced at RJ to see what he thought. “I said all that?”

  RJ paused just long enough to smile affectionately. “Every word, babe.”

  “Was I joking?” I asked hopefully.

  “No. You were totally serious. You had a crowd watching. It was so hot.”

  No, it was so humiliating. I wanted to cover my face and disappear.

  “Guys, that makes me look so bad!” I groaned. “Everybody’s going to think I’m some kind of slut!”

  “Naw,” Randy said, grinning at me.

  “I’m serious!” I said.

  “Shut up, whore,” Archibald said, but not unkindly. It was nice of him to use that word. “Spread your legs wider.”

  “Sure, okay.” I shifted to give him better access.

  You can bet I was listening as he continued the story.

  “Out of all the people crowded together to watch, she picks me! She says to me, ‘I’m going to change your mind about Jack’s photographs.’”

  “Oh dear,” was all I could say. Bad, drunk Rebecca had recognized this nasty boy, and still picked him.

  “Rebecca pushes me into the cab with you guys. She peels off her dress and throws it into the street, nothing on underneath, and climbs in after us. Everybody on the sidewalk is cheering. We pull away, and she’s begging the cab driver to put his fingers in her mouth.”

  Too much!

  It was just too much.

  The sensations from my pussy. The word “whore” thrown around like it wasn’t my magic turn-on switch. The mortification of my behavior last night. The fucking dirty thrill of my behavior last night. The frustration that I couldn’t remember more than bits and pieces.

  Underlying this miasma of conflicting emotions was the shame that RJ had seen me like that. What if he decided I wasn’t what I claimed? What if he decided I wasn’t that rare kind of committed model who could leave it all out there, who had the strength of character to bare the deeply personal, sexual side of herself? What if he thought I was just a slut, using modeling as an excuse to be a slut?

  Too much. I couldn’t unpack it in my head.

  When I could get the words out, I turned to RJ. “I lost my dress?”

  “I picked it up again when you weren’t looking, babe.”

  I think that’s when I went from a simple crush on him, to real love.

  Archibald opened his mouth to continue, but then his brain seemed to slide back down his body to his cock. His shaft rested fully in my crevice, but lengthwise, so I covered him in my juices as he sawed back and
forth. Every time he moved, we heard the wet sop, sop, of my sex.

  Every now and then, at the end of a downstroke, the head of his cock would nearly enter me completely. If he changed his angle half an inch, he’d penetrate me. Shit, if I changed my angle half an inch, he’d penetrate me.

  He pressed harder. I wished he would just accidentally slide in. Just accidentally.

  You really are a slut, Bad Rebecca chided me.

  No! I thought. I’m a real model.

  Archibald threw his head back, and bellowed like a bear.

  He was coming. I had done enough modeling sessions that I could tell.

  He gave a huge galvanic thrust.

  I shifted my pelvis just a little. He penetrated me in one long, delicious stroke, burying himself to the hilt in my pussy.

  His first jet of cum felt like a little kick. Heat blossomed inside me, in my belly, in my womb. I cried out with ecstasy, clenching his arms in my hands.

  “I’m a model!” I shouted. “I’m a fashion model!”

  He gave another thrust, and another spurt deep inside me. It only intensified my orgasm.

  The heat, the shame, the lust—all swirled inside me. It splashed in waves through my body, like a car dropped into a swimming pool. Pleasure growing as conflict after conflict unfolded in my head.

  I hated my secret fantasies, but I was glad my secret was out.

  I wanted to be respected, but I craved being used.

  I wanted to be a regular girl, but I wanted every man on campus to fuck me.

  I wanted RJ to laugh at my jokes, but I wanted him to sell me to other men.

  I wanted to be loved, but I wanted to be defiled.

  RJ, moving without hurry, shifted over and put his foot on Archibald’s hip. He pushed Archibald out of me before he could thrust again.

  “You only get two, because you’re an asshole.”

  Archibald hardly noticed. His cum exploded onto my stomach, a hot rain that made me slick from my belly button to the top of my mound.

  RJ’s camera ran hot as he captured every angle. I finished coming, and came again, just from the cum hitting my skin, just from knowing Randy and RJ were seeing me get covered in this guy’s seed.

  *Click*

  RJ’s photograph showed my tan skin and the contrast of the white cum on my stomach. In the photo I was, in every sense, wet: from the sweat beading my skin, to my slicked down hair, to the saliva on my face and neck, to the cum on my stomach, to my wet pussy, throbbing and open.

  Archibald shook himself, staring.

  “Wow, all of that, from me?” he asked softly.

  “You can thank Rebecca for that,” Randy snickered.

  Archibald turned to me. “Thank you, Rebecca. You really are awesome. I couldn’t help talking like that. Your pictures always bring out my deepest fantasies. Then, to have you for myself… I couldn’t hold back those fantasies.”

  “There’s a lot of that going around,” RJ said.

  Archibald found his pants on the floor and pulled them up, ignoring his underwear. His cock, still hard, disappeared from my sight. It released me, somehow, and I could finally blink and move.

  “It’s okay,” I said. “I think we got some really great pictures.”

  Archibald paused, frowning. “Sure, okay. Thanks again.”

  He rushed out of the room, almost running. The front door opened and slammed.

  “Poor guy,” I said. “He’s going to be self-conscious when the class sees these pictures.”

  RJ shrugged. “He knew the price to play.”

  Suddenly, Randy rolled off the bed. I thought he was queasy about Archibald’s fluids covering my torso, but no—he was pulling a pair of shorts over his underwear.

  “You have an audience, Rebecca.” He jerked his thumb at the window. The window in the house next door had been pushed open. Leaning through it were three college guys with with awestruck expressions.

  They had a comprehensive view of the bed—and me on it, with my legs apart, drenched in cum.

  “Well, my reputation is permanently enhanced,” Randy laughed.

  “They’re just gawkers,” I said. I studied them as I caught my breath, and they studied me back. It gave me a little thrill, how closely they watched me. “It happens all the time, Randy. Everybody’s interested in how real photo shoots go.”

  “Sure, Rebecca. It happens all the time, for you.”

  I finally gathered myself together and stood. Then a bone-cracking stretch. The guys in the window kept staring. I gave them a “hello, dorks” wave, but they didn’t take the hint. They waved back, but didn’t move.

  I put them out of my head, and said, “Did we do good, Jack?”

  RJ was shooting a few last frames, getting me waving at the faces in the window. “Fuck yeah. I had no idea it would be this good. I didn’t have high hopes.”

  “You should know better,” Randy said. “Rebecca always gets the job done.”

  “Damn right,” I said.

  I glanced down at the mess on my belly. My panties, hanging off my hips, were covered in Archibald’s cum as well. I yanked them off and threw them aside, where they stuck to the wall.

  Then I had a new problem with the cum running down my belly. I tried to divert it, gave up, and just spread it all over my stomach and hips so it would start to dry.

  *Click* *Click*

  While I messed with the cum, RJ clicked away, and my audience of voyeuristic college guys stared incredulously. They were only twelve feet away by line of sight, close enough to be using their cell phones to film me. I know models are always peeked at, but I was still annoyed.

  “You’re so juvenile,” I told them.

  When that had no effect, I flicked them off. They kept filming.

  I fought down a giggle. They were very determined!

  “Fine, take your videos. I hope all your buddies are impressed!” I spun around for them. “I mean, look at all this cum on me!”

  No effect. They weren’t even a little ashamed. I had trouble maintaining angry-face. They were so serious, so turned on, I almost cracked a smile.

  It’s nice to be admired, but I really shouldn’t reward that kind of behavior. So after a few more minutes where I was the mature one, I gave up and went to the kitchen.

  Coming Clean

  Forget hunting for clothes, or even cleaning Archibald’s cum off me. Topmost on my list of priorities was coffee.

  That’s how it is for models. We’re only self-consciousness at the beginning. Once we’ve been naked for five minutes, everybody else seems strange and out of synch. After all, they’re the ones stammering, nervous, with flushed faces, like they have something to hide. Models can stay naked all day and hardly care.

  Same with those guys in the window. The way I was feeling now, Randy could bring his buddies in for a close inspection, and I wouldn’t even flinch. I almost wanted to dare Randy to invite them over, so we could see who cracked first.

  In the end analysis, it’s merely my body. I can’t help how men react to it. If men didn’t react their own way to me, I wouldn’t be covered in cum right now.

  Cum.

  Oh, fuck.

  I froze with the coffee mug halfway to my lips. It all came rolling back, the conversation between RJ and me, first thing in the morning.

  So he finally knew about my tawdry sex-for-money fantasy. My big secret was out of the bag. RJ knew all about my inner life, the one where I imagined I was a whore, and everybody wanted me, and everybody could have me. What’s more, RJ didn’t seem turned off by it. He wasn’t disgusted when Bad Rebecca welled out of her silk-lined hiding place in my head. He seemed more aroused by it than anything else.

  What if… (I tried to approach the thought casually, as if someone else might overhear me and judge me.)

  What if a man, a stranger, promised me money, and I got down on my knees in front of him? What if I unbuckled his belt and unzipped his fly? What if, for that money, I took out his cock and wrapped my lips around i
t? And what if I sucked him off, until he gave me his cum… and what if I got to swallow it, because I’d earned it?

  Filthy, horrible, disgusting!

  But I was wet again. Just thinking about it turned me on.

  Good Rebecca resisted: But I’m a nice girl! I have a great sense of humor. I’m motivated and driven. My work ethic leaves everybody else in the dust.

  Bad Rebecca replied: All your good qualities make degrading you that much hotter.

  RJ and I had done several photo shoots, and in the natural course of things, they often developed quite far. I often ended up with cum on me, sometimes a lot of cum—and sometimes it ended up in me. What if I didn’t have to fool everybody during those photo shoots, and I could drop all pretense and just be a total slut?

  If I was a whore, wouldn’t it be just like a photo shoot, except without the camera? Was I even ready for that? The camera, after all, is what proves I’m a legitimate professional. Without the camera, I’d have to come to terms with myself.

  RJ would understand when I explained—because yes, he’d be part of this. I couldn’t imagine any of this without him involved. I’d confessed to him and opened myself up, and he hadn’t rejected me. He had liked what he heard.

  I was still stirring all these thoughts, and getting nowhere with them except aroused, when RJ embraced me from behind. “You know, babe, you never collected that $10 from Archibald.”

  “Crap! Archibald stiffed me for the money he owed!”

  RJ laughed. “Yep, and he even got to fuck you, at least for a few seconds. I bet he’ll tell everybody in class about it. Too bad nobody will believe him.”

  “They better believe him, after what I went through,” I said darkly. His wobbly balance, his hyperactive mouth all over me, his dick thrusting back and forth over my nether lips, playing me like a violin. I also remembered tilting my hips up, and letting him plunge into me. Bad Rebecca. Baaad Rebecca. “And after all that, he didn’t even pay me.”

  “You can stop him outside of class and demand cash for fucking him.”

  “Don’t think I won’t.” I sipped my coffee, and then giggled at the image. “I can scream like a street whore, and you can put on a pimp hat and shake your fist.”