Chapter 9

I liked the idea of becoming a nudie model very much, probably because I knew I had so much natural born talent in the tit and ass department. I could probably work up quite a career once I got started. The problem was, just how to begin. The agencies or studios that used these cunt-pictures couldn't exactly come out and advertise for help. But leave it to Dee Dee to think up a gimmick.

I looked up a legitimate photo studio just off Fifth Avenue and went up there. I spoke to the photographer whose name was Gene, and so handsome and graceful I figured him for a nance. He was wearing those very tight pants that show the complete bulge of a man's cock and balls -and the indentation of his rectum in the rear. I wanted some portraits and full-length shots taken of myself. I told him I was going to have a few dozen prints made to leave with model agencies, since I was an aspiring model.

Gene led me to a small studio which had a couple of stools, chairs and a couch as props. I sat where he told me to go on the couch while he fiddled with adjusting various baby spotlights and his camera. Then he came over to the couch to give me posing instructions. He turned my head to a better angle and then his hands fluttered around my titties. For a moment I thought I was all wrong about Gene's being a homo, then he reassured me.

"I just want to get a refined cleavage shot, dearie," he practically lisped and I knew he wouldn't try to use the couch for humping purposes. Not with a girl anyway.

We were on a first-name basis by the time he had completed his series of shots, gossiping about the trade.

"I'm new in this business, Gene," I said. "I'd appreciate your giving me advice as to what agencies to contact . . ."

He rattled off a list I pretended to note down and concluded with, "But there's an agency in this area you ought to stay away from -Chromo. They front for the biggest pussy peddlers in town"

He had given me the lead I really wanted and I couldn't wait to leave.

"Print a dozen of each pose, Gene dear, "I'll be up for them in a couple of days," I said airily over my shoulder.

I did one smart thing before heading straight for the Chromo Model Agency. I stopped at a fancy bank in Rockefeller Center and stashed away my little pouch of diamonds in a safe deposit box. I felt a. lot better after that little chore was completed..

The Chromo Model Agency was in a real dingy office building right off Times Square. I opened the door and walked in. A real tiny reception room a desk but no receptionist. On the desk was a sign which read Receptionist Out To Lunch. Ring Bell. The sign was covered with dust. Evidently the receptionist, if there'd ever been one, had been out to lunch for several months. I rang the bell.

The door to the inner office opened and a short, chubby man with a round, completely bald head and bushy eyebrows looked out. He glared at me, then smiled and crooked his finger. I walked in, shut the door behind me, and sat down in a dusty chair in front of his desk. I looked around. The walls were covered with pictures of nude or semi-nude babes. Encouraging. On the other hand, all of the pictures were, well, covered up in the ass and pussy areas.

"What can I do for you?" said the chubby man with the bald head. "Miss, uh?"

"Dee Dee," I said. "Dee Dee Summers."

He jumped to his feet, leaned across his desk, grabbed my hand and pumped it up and down. "Delighted to meet you, Miss Summers." He let go of my hand and dropped back into his chair. He pursed his lips. "My name, Miss Summers -or may I call you Dee Dee? -is Vellick. Victor Vellick. I am of Mixed English and Russian parentage. I myself however, am one hundred percent American. One hundred percent. You desire employment as a model, I take it" He pursed his lips again and stared at my cleavage and titties. "Too busty," he said, "Too busty to be a fashion model." He drummed his fingers on the desk, raising little clouds of dust. "Photographers, however, photographers might find your, ah, dimensions interesting."

"That's what I want to become," I told him. "A photographers' model." I smiled at him. "And Mr. Vellick. Just so we understand each other right from the start -I don't care what kind of pictures I pose for. I don't mind what angles I'm photographed from without any clothes or what's being done to me while I'm being photographed -if you know what I mean." I smiled at him. A real whore-like smile.

He turned white. Then he pulled out a purple handkerchief and mopped his brow. "Miss Summers, uh, Dee Dee," he said, "I fear you have, uh, come to the wrong place. This is a legitimate, ethical agency."

I got to my feet. "In that case I'll be on my way."

"Sit down!" he barked. I sat down.

He mopped his brow again. "I run a clean, decent establishment here." he said. "Clean girls for clean pictures." I got to my feet again. "Please sit down," he begged. I sat down. He chewed his lip, mopped his brow, then sprang to his feet and pulled a Geiger counter out of a desk drawer. "Excuse me," he said, and walked all around me, keeping the Geiger counter pointed in my direction while he fiddled with little knobs and peered at a couple of dials on his instrument.

I turned my head to watch him. Was he nuts?"

He sighed with relief, put the Geiger counter back in a drawer. "No doubt, ha ha," he said, "you think I'm nuts. But what you no doubt mistook for a Geiger counter was actually a broad-band radioemission detector." He grabbed my hand and kissed it. "Forgive me, child. I feared you might have a small but powerful radio transmitter in your handbag. However, neither you nor your handbag appear to be transmitting." He mopped his brow with evident relief. I stared at him blankly.

He smiled. "Dee Dee, do you really wish to become a model? I nodded. "Very well," he said. "Pardon me while I make one more simple and, uh, painless test. Roll up your left sleeve, please."

I hesitated, then shrugged and rolled up the sleeve of my blouse. He pulled another gadget out of his desk and attached it to my upper arm. It looked kind of like the gadget doctors use to check your blood pressure. Then he struck a banded metal rod in my hand. "Grasp that tight, please," he begged me. "This instrument, as you've no doubt guessed, is a portable lie detector. Electronics is a hobby of mine" He stopped and mopped his brow. "A vitally necessary hobby." He pulled a printed questionnaire out of yet another desk drawer.

"With your permission I will now ask you a few simple questions for my, uh, files. All right?"

"Sure," I said.

"Splendid. Now, Dee Dee," he went on, peering not at me but at the dials on his instrument. "Are you now or have you even been a policewoman employed by the vice squad?"

I stared at him, too amazed to even open my mouth.

"Ah," he said, still peering at his dials, "you are not a cop!" He looked up at me and smiled. "As you may or may not know, it is not necessary for the, uh, subject of a lie detector test to give a vocal answer. If you'd been a vice squad detective my instrument would have so alerted me." He beamed at me. "Forgive me, child. But I have been much harassed of late by official representatives of our fanatically prudish society. In short, the vice squad is on my, uh ass."

"I'm sorry to hear that," I said truthfully.

"Thank you. Just last week a beefy, unattractive female walked in here, leered at me, and told me she wished to pose for, as she put it, lewd and lascivious photographs. It was patently obvious to me that she was a policewoman. Not only did she have flat feet, but the antenna of her handbag radio protruded several inches from her purse."

"How awful," I said. "But I really do want to pose for dir -uh, lewd and lascivious pictures. If the pay is good."

Victor Vellick beamed. "The pay," he assured me, "is very good." He jumped to his feet, grabbed my free hand, kissed it, dropped back into his chair again. "And again -forgive me for being overly suspicious. It's just that so seldom do young, attractive girls walk in here asking for assignments. Usually they come in here looking like naive virgins like they are. Asking for a respectable modeling job. Which I give them." He winked. "Only such jobs as I give them don't pay a damn. So," he chuckled, "in they come a week later anxious for a better-paying job. Which I give them." He snickered. "Back they come, looking scared and frightened -looking,-in short, like girls who have come within an inch of losing their cherries.

"What do you do then?" I asked.

He laughed, a happy, evil kind of laugh. "I sympathize with them, of course. Offer them a glass of light wine -light wine spiked with pure Spanish Fly. And then another glass and another. And after that a smoke of, uh, unusually potent tobacco." He snickered. "When they regain consciousness, it doesn't take them long to realize that they no longer need worry about losing their, uh, cherries. Their maidenheads have already been penetrated. By me." We both laughed.

Victor beamed at me. "I'm glad to see we have similar senses of humor. Well," he continued with an evil chuckle, "after getting a taste of stiff prick up their cunnies they aren't so fussy about the kind of modeling assignments they accept. I send them out on even more lewd, even more lascivious jobs. And, unless the stupid ex-virgin kills herself in remorse and shame, she ends up consenting to, as you put it, posing for any kind of picture -for our mutual profit." He smiled proudly. "In my time, Dee Dee, I'm proud to say that Fve started no less than eight hundred and forty seven young, voluptuous virgin pussies on the road to profitable degradation and shame."

"Congratulations," I said.

He beamed at me. "Would that all young, voluptuous virgins had your enlightened attitude. I'd be a millionaire today -i instead of merely extremely wealthy. However, back to business. With your leave, a few more routine questions for my file." He peered at his questionnaire, then at the dials of his lie detector. "I won't waste time asking you if you're a virgin, Dee Dee. Instead I'll skip directly to question seven. Dee Dee, would you say that you are, A) moderately promiscuous; B) extremely promiscuous; or C) just plain cock-crazy?"

I considered. "Well ..." I said thoughtfully.

He ignored me. He simply glanced at his dials and then checked box C opposite question seven. By golly, his lie detector was really accurate and infallible.

"Question eight. Are the cops after you?" I went cold.

Victor glanced up from his dials, smiling. "Please don't be alarmed," he begged me. "My lie detector tells me you're in fear of the law." He gave a bitter laugh. "Aren't we all? Rest assurred that I have no interest in knowing why the cops are after you merely in knowing the answer to question nine, namely are the cops close to your trail or have you gotten away clear?"

I thought hard. Were the cops close on my trail? No; in all probability the cops didn't even know who I was, let alone that I was technically, a killer.

"Congratulations," said Victor, looking up from his dails and beaming. "Would that I, too, could say the same." He snapped off his machine and began untying the gadget from my arm. "Dee Dee," he said "You have passed all your tests with flying colors. Consider yourself a client of this agency."

"You mean," I said, bursting with pride and happiness, "you're going to send me out to have lewd and lascivious photographs of my naked body taken for big pioney?"

"I am indeed," said Vistor. "What's more," he added, looking me up and down and drooling a little, "I'm going to start you at the bottom -the top, rather. I'm going to send you directly to Jack Beauchamp. Tears of joy sprang involuntarily to my eyes.

"Ah-hah!" he cried. "Even though you may have come, as I surmise, from a small town, I see that the name of the originator of the New Wave of stag movies is not an unfamiliar one to you. Yes, child, before this day is over -" he glanced dramatically at his watch -"you will be in the hands of, and before the cameras of Jack Beauchamp himself. And as you no doubt have heard, no man in the world makes more lewd and lascivious movies than Jack Beauchamp.

All sorts of pleasant sensations rippled through me, from my pussy-lips to my itchy nipples, as I thrilled to the thought of getting a" chance of stardom. I'd be working under a real master in the cunt and ass film field. Soon my unclothed vagina and anus, in very interesting positions and situations would be on movie film. I would be giving hardons and masturbation material to thousands of men a week as I went on view in smokers, strip, stag and fuck parties all over the country. My nip pies actually began to stiffen in anticipation of the torrents of shooting sperm Dee Dee Summers would be generating in the male population.

I might even arouse enough interest in some other producers so that I'd get to be a serious movie or TV actress. I'd heard that there are at least three movie stars, whose names are household words, who got started screwing for stag movies. So why not me?