Chapter 8

The dressing room smelled of powder and perfume-and some underlying woman-smell that got through to Peggy without her being in any way able to identify it. Not just woman-smell; something distinctly female, which is considerably more emphatic and at the same time a great deal more subtle than just woman-smell. It set Peggy to feeling again, an odd new warmth creeping up in her little cunt, an itch that couldn't be scratched.

There were lights all around the large pier glass. Peggy walked over to it, studying her approach with interest. Her legs were slim and rounded, molding into small hips-but very feminine hips. Peggy waggled them slightly, cocking the right one up and drooping on the left. It threw her legs into an interesting position and made her little slit tilt cranksided, like a mild leer. If she twitched her pelvis just a shade forward the slightly crooked slit moved. Provocatively? Peggy couldn't quite answer that. Certainly this new, full-length view of her body was, in itself, intriguing. She didn't have to stand on the busted John and lift one leg to see her cunt in a blotched and wavy mirror.

It reflected not only her legs, the whole length of them, and her cunt-the slit was all she could see really, and just the tip of that- her mound and the faint dusting of silky fuzz plus, of course, her titties. She twisted a little sideways to get a better view of them, since front-on they weren't very impressive. But slightly sideways! Peggy nodded. Very nice little bubbies. She slid her hands up them, cupping and supporting them but they didn't really need that. They jutted out, tilted slightly up, even if they weren't very big. And when she drew a deep breath they were quite noticeable.

She ran her hands down her sides, tracing the curve that rounded into her small hips. Not really much of a waist. But her stomach was nice and flat, not a swelling butterball like Maude Zaparete who looked pregnant without ever getting fucked. Or at least not raped. Peggy even doubted Maude's assertion that she had been screwed-but not by Mr. Ladd (her name for Jules). That was just to make up for some of the local glamour lost when the rape bubble burst prematurely.

No, Peggy decided, turning herself around and then corkscrewing back, her stomach did not need trimming down. And it would certainly show pregnancy. Even a little bit of a pregnancy would show on that nice, flat little stomach.

She had a sudden moment of panic. Suppose she was already pregnant. Suppose Jim Atwood had given her a baby! Of course, it couldn't be. Not really. Since she hadn't really been fucking. That was just posing. And you didn't get babies from just posing. That was one of the nice things about posing. You didn't get babies from it.

Still...

Peggy turned and ran, looking for Jim, a little bewildered now that the brilliant glare of lights was gone, and only the work light showing her an intricate path through the gaunt menace of ladders and tripods and things that turned into crouching beasts threatening her. Confused, she whirled, crashed into a light standard and sent it careening into a ladder. She clutched wildly at the lamp standard but the ladder went over with a reverberating clatter. Peggy screamed.

Somewhere off to her right a door opened, letting out a path of amber light, with Jim's head outlined against it. "Are you hurt?" He hesitated, listening, "The way those lungs are going, I'd say no. Oh! You don't have to cling to that light standard. It's not going anywhere.

It'll even stand up by itself. Come here, kid. So you got startled. My God, it didn't literally scare the pants off you, did it? I thought I told you..."

Peggy ran to him, flinging herself at him, entangling her slender arms in the terry cloth robe and nearly wrenching it off him, momentarily fascinated with the revelation. His prick was swollen again and heavy-looking, not quite standing up but on the verge. He saw her staring at it and sighed. "It's those photos of you. Even in them you're raunchy. And I look at hundreds every day..."

Peggy caught her breath, leaning against him, her eyes still on his half-erect prick. "Did you give me a baby?"

Jim sighed. "Kid, you are impulsive! You should have thought of that a while back." He tousled her hair. "No, kid. Don't you remember? That was just posing. And anyway, I've been fixed that way. Temporarily." He grinned down at her. "With some that is a very good selling point. I just forgot to mention it to you..."

Immensely relieved, Peggy nodded. "Sure. And, like you say, we were just posing, anyway. So even if I had one it wouldn't count." She looked up then. "I would like to have your baby but Grandma gets so upset."

Jim shook his head and seemed to listen for something to rattle inside. "Don't explain that, kid. I might understand it. Which I hope you don't." He glanced down at her. "And if you must scratch that itch, try rubbing it under a gate. You bother me."

Peggy nodded happily. "I know. Your pecker's all stiff again. Just because I rub my titties up against you. Oh, the pictures! Did I come out good?"

Jim chuckled. "Well, 'good' isn't the operative word. But you sure came through clear, kid. And very, very merchandisable. Watch these prints. They're still wet. But if you..."

Peggy already had the first of the prints spread out on the counter, her small fingers held it open, her eyes greedily studying it.

"That's me all right..."

She stared at the print, a black and white rendering of her slim, nude body flung across a bed, her young but rounded legs dangling, her flesh drawn taut. And her eyes big with wonder -with just a tinge of fear, as that prick threatened her small, partially flowering cunt unencumbered by hair. Her small finger with a gnawed nail traced out the more intimate details. Finally she looked up at Jim. "Is that good posing?" and at his nod she sighed contentedly, knowing that she would be used to pose again. And turned back to the picture, pointing. "Most of you is lopped off."

Jim nodding, stirring the wash on the other prints, carefully avoiding seeing Peggy's young, nubile body at his side. "Sure. Who wants to see the man? It's the girl they're looking for. And what happens to her."

Peggy giggled, staring at the photograph. "That girl is sure gonna have something happen to her, isn't she? Wow!" Peggy wriggled ecstatically. "Was she ever gonna get it! That big ole prick right in her little ole cunt! Hey!" Peggy almost climbed into the washing tray in an effort to see the other prints. Jim pulled her back.

"They'll keep, kid. Just give 'em a minute."

Peggy was following the slow swirl of camera shots, lucid and explicit. "That's where you ackshully rammed it in me. And there's where... I don't remembering screaming then, but it sure looks like it, doesn't it?"

Jim hauled out the print gingerly, studying it. "A very graphic representation of a young girl having her first orgasm. You screamed, young lady. You screamed. And kicked me in the tail, and I remember it."

Peggy giggled. "Did I?" She pointed to the explicit print showing her little cunt spread wide, the shaft of a penis thrust way, deep inside. Her young face contorted in a gasping grimace. "And that's good?"

"Kid, it's fabulous. If there were Pulitzer prizes for pornography, that would take it... A virgin has an orgasm. If that were ever published, Peggy, you'd be world famous-and both of us would be in jail. Unfortunately, in separate cells."

But Peggy wasn't looking. She had lain the print on the table and was regarding it studiously, chin on small fists. "Aren't my eyes a little too big? And turned up. Rolled up, I mean."

Jim came to stand beside her, his arm draped over her bare shoulder. "Well, you have big eyes. And in this instance-and rightly so- widened by-emotion. Rolled up? Yes. A trifle. But that tends to emphasize the excitement. And you do have one crooked tooth."

Peggy pooh-poohed that. "Won't nobody notice that. Not in that picture."

"You are observant, my wench. And correct. It is doubtful if anyone would notice a herd of elephants in the background doing handstands on their trunks. That photograph is what you might call assertive."

But Peggy was through with that one. She reached into the shallow pan, stirring with her finger, mentally selecting a number of minor images, nodding. "The socks do make it more- naughty, don't they?" She turned, looking up at Jim, her young breasts brushing aside his terry cloth robe, exposing some of his chest. "Why?"

"Eve, they're your fig leaf. Which is much more intriguing than outright nudity. They also connote youth. Extreme youth. And there is an element of depravity in them, as if you were in such a hurry to get laid you didn't bother to take them off."

Peggy giggled, nodding. "Well, that's what happened, wasn't it? We forgot to take them off. Is that depraved?"

"I'm afraid it is, I hope."

"What's depraved? What's it mean?"

"It means-that." Jim leaned over her, tapping at the print. "And what you're doing to me, rubbing your libidinous breasts against my chest. And take your hand off my pecker!"

Peggy let go of his pecker reluctantly and peered down at her libidinous breasts, rather expecting some sort of sea-change. "Libidinous? Is that nice?"

"On you it wears well, child. Your titties are the embodiment of the sensuous, especially the way you stand there, moving them to some inaudible music. Bongo rhythm, no doubt."

"I just like to move 'em. It feels good. Not as good as when you play with 'em, but good. Better than just standing here, waiting."

Jim leaned over, carefully avoiding Peggy's slim young body, picking the prints up one by one and hanging them from clips. "And what are you waiting for? And why ask a foolish question? You only get a silly answer. One that would embarrass a bishop."

Peggy scowled at the prints, trying to sort all that nonsense out. She knew quite well what she was waiting for. And she was quite certain Jim knew. And how had the bishop got into it?

"Do I have to pose with a bishop?"

Jim nodded, as if something were confirmed. "Not necessarily. However, there are interesting potentials. Like, should he wear his mitre while screwing a nymphet?"

Peggy shook her head. "But I'm not screwing for real. That's just posing." The distinction was very clear in her mind, but came out hazy when she tried to put it into words. Screwing was something private and maybe ugly, the way the old bag made it, prancing around, swinging her blue-veined titties and heavy, pendulous buttocks marred with tired old bruises. But posing was something you could think about and plan and consider. And maybe even talk about. And kind of-arrange. Though admittedly the first posing had been just a shade hurried. Not, that she was finding fault. It had been very satisfactory posing, as these pictures showed.

But the next posing...-Peggy frowned, considering, running over the sample book in quick mental takes. There was one pose that had looked extremely interesting. The man had been lying down, his prick almost straight-up, and the girl had-just sat down on it. That had seemed both simple and exciting. In fact, just thinking about it had made her little cunt get hot and twitchy.

Peggy tugged at Jim's robe, pulling it aside, seeing his prick standing up and quivering. Why, he was practically ready for posing right now.

He glanced down, saw her looking and nodded. "Yup. They do that. Even to me. And if you're thinking of what I know damn well you're thinking, just give me time to reload the cameras."

Peggy sighed happily, wriggling her small, slim body, moving her titties, weaving her pelvis sinuously, anticipating moves and dreaming of sensations to come.

"I sort of thought we'd pose..."