Chapter 10
When Peggy awoke the lights were off except for a dim one across the studio-and Jim was gone. Gone but-as she listened-close by. In the lab. Finishing up the prints from that latest pose.
Peggy wriggled her shoulders sensuously, feeling the sheet under her, writhing against it, remembering the delights of that last pose. It was slow, delicious awakening. Not only of her eyes, opening and seeing, but of her body, feeling returned to each part in happy reconstruction of that last pose.
She had never seen the old bag do it that way -or, as a matter of fact, any way, vision was cut off by the angle of the window. But even the young whore never had such pleasures, such utter use of her body. And Peggy had had it just for posing. That was the marvelous part of this, of discovering Jim Atwood and the secrets of posing. She could have all the excitement, all the hot, raunchy reaming of Jim's prick-and it was still only posing. It wasn't for real. It didn't count.
Peggy gathered herself together, slowly, savoring each movement, each little twinge of her cunt, her pelvis, her back muscles. These were good aches, pains well and truly earned. And delightful.
She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, resting there a moment to test any new twinges, to see how good they felt, what past delight they reminded her of. Finally she stood up, stretching and yawning, feeling the new pull of muscles, the sheer delight of wriggling her little pelvis.
Swinging it, and bouncing along to inaudible music, Peggy flounced herself into the lab. She stood in the doorway, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the amber light, her pelvis still moving to that inaudible music, her whole body freshly alive.
Jim was just lifting out the finished prints, still dripping, and holding them to the light for inspection.
"Are they any good?" Peggy started slowly across the floor, still savoring the pleasure of waggling her pelvis, of switching her hips.
Jim turned to watch her, swearing. "God damn it! I keep forgetting how beautiful you are-and how damned small and young. Even while I'm looking at these pictures."
Peggy took important things first. "Do you think I'm beautiful?" She paused to consider herself and beauty as she knew it. And nodded. It was a fact. She was beautiful. And went on to the next point. "Were the pictures good? Did I pose all right?"
Jim held a wet print out to her. "You just lost your amateur status. As a model, if nothing else-and there was a good bit else you lost but we won't discuss that. That, young lady, is professional posing. And, I may add, professional photography."
It was a clear, sharp print and showed Peggy just fitting the bulb of Jim's prick into her cunt, an intent, earnest and excited look somehow blended on the youthful face.
She aimed one finger down at her photographed cunt and the shaft about to enter. "It came out good, didn't it?"
Jim grinned at her. "That's the good photography. And what came out good is the-posing. I suspect, young lady, you have quite a career ahead of you. In either of two arts."
Peggy frowned over that, sorting it out. "You mean-either screwing or posing? But I only want to pose. I'm never going to screw. Not for real. It's all right for posing but not for real."
Jim reached out and took back the print. "You do have a point, Peggy. And as long as it works for you, stick to it. It doesn't happen to be a philosophy I can adopt, however convenient it is. And would be, in this profession."
Peggy giggled. "You talk funny. Sort of way out, like."
"And go put on some clothes. You bother me."
"I like bothering you. It's nice to be able to bother somebody. It sort of means they like you. You do like me, don't you?"
Jim turned back to the washing tank. "I like you, Peggy. Perhaps too much. In fact, I know damn well it's too much."
Peggy sighed happily, wrinkling her nose at his back. "I was scared you might not. And wouldn't want me to pose any more." She pranced a little, jiggling her small bosom. "When are we going to pose again? Soon?"
"I think you'd better go get that gin for your grandma, don't you?"
"Do I get ten dollars for posing? Or is that too much? I mean, if you don't have ten dollars," Peggy spoke with the matter-of-factness of people who often don't have ten dollars-or even a dollar. "I don't mind. I've got Grandma's ten hidden and I can get her gin with that."
Jim turned around, leaning against the sink, studying her. "Peggy, you're incredible. And stop jiggling. Things shake up-including me -when you jiggle. Put on your clothes. And you'll get ten dollars. But how will you explain it to Grandma? All that extra money."
"I won't tell her." Peggy spoke with the authority of one who had many secrets from Grandma, who was, after all, rather easy to bamboozle, since she lived in a private world peopled mostly by old grievances and fresh gin bottles.
"And what will you do with the money?"
Since Peggy had never had any money to spend, this was almost a new concept. What could one do with ten dollars? The sum seemed enormous to her. Heady visions swirled through her head and she hugged her slim arms across her bosom. "I don't know. There's so many things..."
"Some clothes that aren't so ventilated might be a good idea... And go put on those you have. Skimpy as they are, they're better than being naked. Better for me, that is."
"Okay." Peggy turned away, giving a little fillip to her rump. She turned back for one last glimpse of herself repeated in the washing tank, in miniature, in positions that were-well, exciting. "When will we pose again? Tonight?" She sighed happily. "Posing is fun."
"Tonight?" Jim appeared to consider that thoughtfully. "I don't think so, chicken. I... well, I'm going to see a man." He waved toward the prints. "About these." He waved her on. "and keep going, spriggins. I might be tempted to-shoot some more poses. No! That's a very firm NO! spriggins. Not now. Not tonight. You take Grandma her gin and go dream about posing. Maybe tomorrow. After school."
"It's vacation," Peggy said it with the great scorn of one in the know for the merely ignorant.
"I can come any time."
"And you can go any time. Like now. I've got to run these prints through the dryer and make up one of my special books... So... and get those clothes on! You're distracting." Jim made shooing motions, and Peggy trotted happily off, gathering up her scattered clothing and taking them to the dressing room.
She dressed slowly, contemplatively. Yes, she had very nice legs. Of course, they still looked like a little girl's legs-but nicely filled out. She yanked the flimsy panties up so tight they split in even more strategic places than before. But it didn't matter. They had served their purpose. Yes. Peggy sighed with the delight of memories. They had served her well. Except that she was going out, to the store, she would have abandoned them. There was something slightly risque about going out without panties. Faintly naughty.
The miniskirt barely did duty and any breeze would reveal the tattered panties. Not that it mattered. And the sweater really could be persuaded to stay together long enough for the journey to the liquor store and back. And if it didn't? Peggy shrugged. So her bubbies would show. Not a very exciting dilemma for a girl who had posed naked. With a prick in her.
Without asking again for her well-earned pay, Peggy slipped out of James Brewster Atwood's apartment and retrieved the ten dollar bill before marching boldly out the front door, skipping down the steps-to the scandalized delight of several old codgers seated slumped on the steps, dreaming of but scarcely hoping for just such a revelation.
Peggy beamed at them and skipped on down the street, a little more confident of her powers as a temptress, now that she had posed naked. So what if those old coots saw her cute little ass and even her cunt. They weren't going to do anything about it. Probably couldn't, to hear the old crones of the morning mail session complain.
The liquor store man sighed when she came in, shaking his head. "No credit, Peggy. Your grandma forgets too easy."
Peggy held out her hand with the crumpled bill. "We're paying." She pointed to the cheapest of the gin bottles, knowing their location well by now. "Two."
The liquor store man sighed, going into the familiar routine. "I ain't supposed to sell you gin. You're a minor."
"Wrap 'em up like a loaf of bread-with a piece of celery sticking out. Won't anybody know I bought gin." It was a weary game they played. And Mr. Sharpman never did put in the stalk of celery, mostly because he didn't carry it, or any green groceries.
He would think of several more arguments not to sell her gin, just so he could keep her there, enjoying the sight of her fresh young body. Today he was getting more sight-and more enjoyment-than usual because the too-tight sweater really was very revealing. And when Peggy bent over-as she did to inspect the bottom-most row of cheap candies-he got a real revelation. Especially since the panties had virtually disintegrated.
He wrapped the two gin bottles as something vaguely resembling a loaf of bread. Not that it mattered. Anyone seeing Peggy headed out of a liquor store would know Grandma's regular consignment of gin was on its way. The bundle was securely if ineptly wrapped. Mr. Sharp-man's attention wasn't on it, what with viewing Peggy's rump and her little slit in a swirl of tatters and going off into a day dream so entertaining it almost caused him to give Peggy an extra dollar in the change. Instinct alone saved him, and he re-counted before the disaster became a reality.
Peggy headed back to the tenement, her thoughts not on gin or even the correct change. They were contemplating future posing. And setting up scenes of such extraordinary concupiscence that they could only exist in day dreams.
She scarcely heard her grandmother's husky-voiced, rusty complaints. She didn't really need to hear them. They were from an old, tired tape Grandma played endlessly. And only the sight of the two bottles of gin quieted her down. She hid one from herself and scurried back to the once gaudy bed nursing the other.
And left Peggy to wander back to her tiny room and sit at the window, without even noticing the man the young whore had with her.
Peggy had had her own man. And would have him again. But only for posing, of course. The scenes she envisioned were far more entrancing than any show the young whore could put on.