Jayne's World Pt. 15

"Well, they liked it," I retorted.

"Of course they fucking liked it, just as they would if you'd rubbed yourself and shoved two fingers up your cunt."

"Oh, what do you mean?"

"I run evenings for smaller groups where the model can go as far as she likes, and we charge a lot more for that.

"Okay, so?" I said my petulance at being admonished building up.

"So those bozos got those shots on the cheap by you going too far."

I got what he meant and said I was sorry.

"That's okay I didn't set things up properly or warn you, so it's partly my fault. Are you up for going further?"

I was now intrigued and asked. "What do you mean by further?"

"Well, more of what you did last night, touching and rubbing, maybe caressing your boobs or pussy, that sort of stuff, are you Jayne?"

"Maybe but how much do I get?"

"That depends love, on what you're up for doing and how far you'll go."

"Such as?" I asked not for a moment thinking I would go much further but thought I should find out.

"Well, lots of touching, maybe fingering yourself, that sort of stuff," he went on quite clearly enjoying talking to me in such intimate and basic terms. What worried me though, was that I too was quite enjoying it.

"Like last night then?" I asked.

"Yes, but rubbing your clit, fingers in you, making yourself cum, that sort of stuff. For that you'd get at least two hundred a pop, maybe more if you went even further."

Not only was I genuinely interested, for the money was so good, but also the idea of having an orgasm with an audience watching sent a shudder of excitement through me. I think he realised that, but then he should, as he had probably said this to loads of girls. Raising my eyebrows, putting my head to one side and looking right into his eyes in a way that Mickey called my coquettish look I said, "How much further?"

"Well maybe using a vibrator or, not to put too fine a point on it, Jayne, finger fucking yourself as they take shots."

Him.

I was surprised that you had packed and taken a cab into Leeds. Surprised and saddened as it looked as if you'd dumped me. However, I was not as upset as I would have thought I'd be. All along, ever since that first amazing afternoon and evening in London when we'd started our thing - I was never quite sure what to call it - I had known it couldn't last. The age gap, the life styles and even the locations two hundred miles apart, told me so. I was a bit of an old fart, but not so much that I'd lost touch with reality. But was this the end?

OK, you'd offended me by playing with your pussy lips in front of all the photographers and we'd had the worst row we'd had so far, but that wasn't the end of the world. Even your admitting that the posing had aroused you so much that you wanted either to cum or be fucked, or both, could be handled; well so I thought, but it seemed you couldn't. You'd packed and gone to see Max, whom I was beginning to think, maybe unreasonably, might well be my replacement.

I was expecting and hoping you'd call and would not go back to London without contacting me. I should have rung you, but as the morning wore on, I became annoyed and thought sod it, so I didn't, and neither did you. We had a Mexican standoff. As it got past two in the afternoon, I knew you wouldn't ring and that you'd either be on a train by now or would be getting the three o'clock to Kings Cross.

So, I thought sod it, got my laptop, pulled up the files of your photos and had a nice wank.

Her.

I hadn't given Max a definitive answer, but had told him I'd call later today or in the morning. As the 3.10 train from Leeds hurtled southwards towards the safety of London, I tried reaching a decision. The money was certainly an appeal but the row with James was a worry, as it seemed that his jealousy was ruining what we had. But then I couldn't blame him for that. Alright, I guess in some ways he should consider himself lucky to have a young bird like me to have sex with, and we did have good sex too. But in other ways it must have been tough for him seeing me posing for other guys, playing with my pussy and admitting that when I was doing that I wanted to cum or be fucked but not by him. Maybe I should have lied about that.

I was alone and feeling a bit down on the train and I wasn't happy with myself. I didn't feel good about what I was doing. But I did feel good when I was doing it. Odd, certainly, contradictory for sure, possibly illogical and hard for anyone that hasn't been in similar positions to understand. I wanted to stop, but couldn't. But then I also wanted to do more. I was like I imagine a junky feels about their addiction and needing to feed their coke or heroin habit, only mine wasn't that sort of shit, mine was sex.

Thinking about the enormous buzz I'd got when all those guys were looking at me, seeing my naked body with my legs open and knee raised, made me feel horny. As I recalled the feelings I had as they were staring at my most intimate places, it made me want to masturbate. As I remembered their eyes on me, on my body, between my legs and on my cunt, I went to the train's bathroom to masturbate.

I was beginning to realise that sex-wise I was an exhibitionist, although I hadn't known that for most of my teens. I had suspected something along those lines as I got into my early twenties. In some ways the start of it was when I was a on a hen's do, or as some still call it, a bachelorette's party, for a friend getting married. Eight of us went to a sex show at a club in Copenhagen where we saw a male and female couple, two guys with a girl, two girls with one guy and then two girls having sex. There must have been a hundred or so in the mixed audience with a majority being men, but only just. It was all quite respectable and the audience was well behaved and it was not at all sordid. We all enjoyed it and since then often when I masturbate I fantasise that I was on that stage having sex in front of an audience

It was starting to be confirmed when I posed naked for some art students and even more so when Barry and then my dad took those first photos of me. Now, the memories of sitting nearly naked beside Max, looking at myself in those sexy poses, sent my hands scurrying over my body. Whilst I had thoroughly enjoyed being photographed by James, and indeed I had masturbated as he took them, my recall of that was not as horny as I thought it might be. That was quite different to last night's session when the arousal I felt then was only slightly surpassed by what I was experiencing now.

The thoughts of that and my conversation this morning with Max built up further sexual tension throughout my body. Recalling how I had touched the velvety, wet softness of the folds of my pussy around my clit as all those guys looked on and took photos almost made me faint. I remembered uncovering and desperately wanting to go further while the twenty or so pairs of eyes watched, but I hadn't. I stroked around it, I rubbed near it, and I stroked my inner thighs. The looks in their eyes and the expressions on their faces as they'd first seen my pussy were fantastic. There was a combination of lust, desire, surprise, want and, strangely, a hint of embarrassment. I would have loved to have gone further but my professional pride rather than my moral regards, I recognised, stopped me.

It may well have stopped me then, but it couldn't now, and as I found myself in the solitude of the train's bathroom with all the memories of the session and the thoughts of my other escapades roaring through my mind, nothing could have stopped me. Standing before the mirror, I saw that my face was contorted and that somehow my tee shirt had been yanked up above my breasts and each tit had been pulled out of my bra. My jeans and blue panties were around my knees and my hands were buried between my thighs as I masturbated. Deeply, fully, strongly and remarkably satisfyingly I made myself orgasm in the sordid surroundings of a train toilet.