Factory Girl Chloe Tries Modelling

Notes:

This is a role-play fantasy story involving one-to-one consensual sex. There's no blackmailing, BDSM or gang banging, although the sex can get quite firm and spicy at times. It's written by a man to a woman, but I hope that men and women will both relate to it.

It's clearly about two people who know each other, but I have left out any details of their relationship so that readers can interpret it however they wish, and imagine the story is about them.

I have also left out much in the way of description of the couple's physical characteristics for the same reason. 'Chloe' could be blonde or brunette, skinny or full figured, 21 or 51 - it's up to you.

After our first full-on role-play encounter (see 'Chloe the Accountant is Picked Up) we discuss what happened. After a while we agree that each time we meet, you will still be Chloe, but a different Chloe. I'll also play a different role each time.

This is still early days in my attempts at writing erotic fiction. This time, I have tried to include a bit of humour in the story. I am already putting the finishing touches to a third 'Chloe' role-play story.

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The shopping centre is surprisingly busy for a chilly, windy Wednesday afternoon. Maybe it's because it's early in the month and people are still feeling flush so soon after pay day.

Despite the crowds, I have managed to get a table in a quiet corner in the most expensive of the many franchise eateries making up the large food court. My trendy foreign beer is still three quarters full when you come around the corner ahead of me.

You don't see me, but I see you stop to take one last look at your reflection in a shop window. You shake your hair out and make a couple of quick adjustments to your clothes, take a deep breath, say something to yourself and turn to find the franchise I told you about via text a couple of hours ago. It's three minutes before the time I gave you.

(It's been several weeks since our first role play adventure. We are both so ready for this one. Seeing you makes me even more ready.)

As you get close, you scan every face in the place, trying to work out which one is waiting for you. You even ask the only other lone male diner if he is expecting you, a masterful touch, clearly designed for my benefit. The chap is a scruffy bloke in his late sixties, and clearly devastated that he won't be enjoying your company.

You apologise to him, touching his shoulder briefly before turning away from him, now seeing me. As you walk towards me, I can fully appreciate why the poor chap looked so crestfallen, and why he gives me such a dirty jealous look when he realised I am the lucky bastard who has an appointment with you.

To put it simply, you look amazing. Stunning. Breathtaking. I drink in the sight of you as you take the last few steps to my table, but without letting a flicker of emotion show.

A pair of white high heeled shoes push your bum up and out, which heightens the effect of your tight, faded jeans. I love your bum. Every time I see you, I want to touch it, see it, kiss it. And these jeans make those urges stronger than ever. Every pair of eyes in the food court is on it as you wiggle across the floor.

If that wasn't enough, on top you wear a satin black strapless bustier. Your tanned shoulders look wonderful, but of course it's the effect the bustier has on your boobs that draws the eye.

It's a great outfit, but not something Chloe the accountant would wear. At this point I have no idea who you will be playing today.

"Mr Armstrong?"

Your greeting snaps me back in the room, reminding me that, once again, we are strangers. And I have a part to play.

"Yes. You must be Clare."

You look worried. "No, Chloe."

"My bad. Too many meetings today. Too many girls. All a bit of a blur. Chloe. Of course. Please, sit down. Drink?"

I don't get up. I don't offer my hand for you to shake. In this role play I'm a busy man.

"Yes please, if it's no bother."

I catch the waiter's eye and you order a vodka and Red Bull. Classy.

"Look, thanks for coming. I don't have much time so let's get down to business."

"Of course. And thanks ['fanks'] for seeing me." You are polite and professional despite me being a little short with you. But there is something different from our first role play adventure, and it's not just the clothes. Gone is the slightly posh accent of Chloe the accountant. This Chloe is far from posh, but not a bad working class stereotype.

"Yeah, no problem. Now, first of all, the reason we're meeting here in such a public place is for your protection. Nothing is more important to me than the safety and wellbeing of the women I work with. So, unless we're with other people, I always conduct meetings in public places. It's one of the ways I safeguard you. Also, it does give me some protection against false claims of inappropriate behaviour."

"Got it. No problem."

"Good. So, today is a quick chance to meet you and see if I think we can use you. Obviously if we go on to do some test shots there will be a camera man, myself as art director, and a specialist professional chaperone to ensure your safety and wellbeing."

You look a little surprised: "Oh, wow. I didn't know that was how it was done. It seems very professional."

"Well, yes. I didn't build my agency to be so successful by accident. I do things correctly, and that includes putting my models' welfare first. This industry has had a seedy reputation, and I don't want to be part of anything seedy. And on a personal level, I am a big believer in equality and women's rights."

"That's very reassuring, Mr Armstrong."

I lean back in my chair. "So let me ask you, do you have any modelling experience?"

"A little. I'm on the menu for the local pizza delivery firm. And I once modelled flowery blouses and padded jackets in a flyer for the Factory Shop."

"To be honest, that doesn't fill me with much confidence. But I am open minded, and you were on time, which is rare these days. Now, let me get a better look at you. Sit up straight please."

You sit upright, throwing back your shoulders and pushing your boobs out.

"Can you just walk over to the door and back again? I wasn't really paying attention when you walked in."

"Err, OK, sure."

You stand and carry out my instructions. Eager to please, it's like you are on a catwalk in Paris or Milan rather than a UK shopping centre food court. Or at least an inexperienced woman's interpretation of what catwalk modelling might be.

Your bum wiggles, your boobs bounce, and you even toss your hair as you turn before the walk back. Once again, all eyes are on you, but now with added interest as you command attention. I even see a jealous wife punch her husband on the arm for tracking you across the floor.

"Not bad," I say as you take your seat. "I think it's worth scheduling a test shoot."

"Oh, that's great," you squeal, clapping your hands together three times in front of your chest.

I flip open the calendar on my phone. "What's your diary like for November?"

"November?" You look devastated. "Will it really be that long?"

(It's currently mid-September.)

"I'm sorry but I'm busy. I see a lot of girls. And it takes time to organise a studio, photographer and chaperone. But we do pay five hundred pounds for a two-hour test shoot, so that should be worth waiting for."

You look down at your hands, now clasped together on the table. You take a deep breath

"What's wrong?"

"It's just, I, I really need to start making some money as soon as possible."

"Aren't you in work?"

"I was. I had a job in a shoe factory, but it all went wrong. Some problem with my boss."

"What type of problem?"

"This is difficult. You see, he took a shine to me and wouldn't take no for an answer. When I made it clear I wasn't interested, he got me fired. And now my rent's due and my landlord is pulling that 'Surely we can come to some arrangement' crap. People think just because I'm pretty, with great tits and a killer ass, they can treat me like a piece of meat."

"That's disgusting. And it certainly won't happen with my agency. But I can't just click my fingers and arrange a shoot. And we do need pictures of you in, well, various poses in order to assess whether we can send you to our clients' shoots."

"I understand. I know this is about lingerie, topless and nude modelling, like we discussed on the phone. I know you need to see how photogenic I am, how my body looks."

You pause. I let the silence hang in the air.

"I have an idea, Mr Armstrong. How about I take some selfies and send them to you? That way you can see how I look, and it will save you the time and cost of a - what did you call it?"

"A test shoot."

"Yes, a test shoot. And of course, it might mean I get some work sooner, which would mean the world to me."

(Your voice is almost pleading, but not quite. Fuck, you are so good at this.)

"It's not as simple as that. We need professional pictures, not iPhone selfies. And we need to know how you are in a studio environment, how relaxed you are, how well you take direction. That sort of thing."

It looks like you are about to cry.

"Look, I know you have your procedures, but can't you please help. Can't you take some pictures today? You must know what you're doing. I mean, it's your agency."

"Yes of course I do. And I have cameras in my hotel room not far from here. But I just can't take the risk of you accusing me of malpractice. There's nobody to chaperone and I don't even have a model release form handy for you to sign."

"OK. I'm sorry."

Again, that on-the-edge-of-tears look.

"Please don't get upset. I can't remember, where did you say you came from today?"

You name a grubby town at least 100 miles away.

"Well let me give you some petrol money at least."

"That's kind of you but I didn't drive. My car's in the garage. It needs a new clutch, and I can't afford to pay the bill. I got a return train ticket with my last thirty pounds."

"Oh, I see. This interview obviously meant a lot to you."

You nod, pick up your bag and start to stand: "Sorry, I shouldn't even mention my problems. I'm very grateful for your time and hopefully I'll hear from you about that test shoot."

"Sit down, please. Look, I can see how upset you are and how much this means to you. I shouldn't really do this as it goes against everything I stand for, but you are my last meeting of the day so I could squeeze in a test shoot. But it would have to be in my hotel room, so there are a few things we must do to make sure you feel safe."

"I feel safe already, with you. But sure, whatever you want."

You're smiley again now.

"First, I want you to take a picture of me, and then the hotel, and send them to a friend. Make sure they know where you are and what's going on."

"Got it."

"I'll also need you to give me verbal consent before we start the shoot, which we will both film on our phones."

"No problem."

"And to give you even more reassurance, let me just make it clear that I have a simple rule. I never proposition models or in any way get involved with them."

"Oooh, so I'm a model now?"

The cheeky way you say this is quite lovely. You are playing the role of a factory girl flattered and excited at the prospect of modelling perfectly.

"Not quite. But my rule applies just the same."

We drink up and head to the hotel, which is just a short walk away. Once again, all eyes are on you, in the food court, through the shopping centre, and out in the busy street. Your bare shoulders are especially striking on this cold Autumn afternoon.

You look impressed and excited when you see that I am staying at the best hotel in town.

You take the pictures as we agreed, of me and the hotel, and fiddle with your phone, seemingly sending them to a friend.

I'm really struggling to play my part in this. You look sensational in your tight jeans and even tighter bustier. I get glimpses of your smooth armpits as you try to control your slightly messy hair as it blows across your face in the wind.

I want to kiss you. On your mouth, your neck, your shoulders and your shaved armpits. I really don't know if I can restrain myself in the next hour or so, as we planned it, but I know it will be worth it.

I guide you through the hotel's huge revolving door and lead you up to my room on the top floor. I hold the door open for you to step through. You let out a gasp as you see that it's a big and expensive room.

"Wow. This is lovely. I've only seen hotel rooms like this in films!"

(The deliberate irony that we were in an even bigger suite in an even nicer hotel just a few weeks ago doesn't pass me by.)

"Sorry, that wasn't professional of me. I know we have work to do."

"No need to apologise, Chloe. Now let's get this consent statement on film. In your own words, just say that you consent to me taking different types of pictures and that you understand that I can share them with colleagues and clients for business purposes, but that you do not consent to them being more widely circulated, printed or published online."

We both start filming and I am fighting back the laughter as you make your statement:

"I, Chloe Cumming, being of sound mind and judgement, do hereby consent to Mr Armstrong taking pictures of me, wearing clothes, in lingerie, topless and fully nude, and he shall thereafter have my consent to share said pictures with colleagues and clients whomsoever he does seem fit to, but he does not have my consent for said pictures to be online or elsewhere."

The way you play the factory girl doing her best to talk in legal language is genius, and hilarious.

"OK, Chloe. If you are happy with that, so am I. Oh and one more thing. Give me your bank details and I'll transfer over your £500 fee for the test shoot now."

You are taken aback: "Oh my. I didn't expect that, what with this not being a proper studio and everything. Thank you, Mr Armstrong, that is wonderful."

With the business done, we get down to the shoot. I can barely contain my excitement. It's been weeks since I kissed, licked, fondled and fucked Chloe the accountant. And I'm about to live out a fantasy of being a photographer with a beautiful, nude, slutty subject.

"Do you want to pop in the bathroom and make sure you're happy with your hair and makeup while I set up in here."

"Of course. Won't be long."

While you are in the bathroom, I set up the lights and camera I bought just for this moment. They didn't cost much but look the part and will help to make our fantasy feel real.

You step out of the bathroom looking amazing. Your makeup is a little heavier, especially the lipstick, but still tasteful. Your hair has more body to it and that slightly messy look you know I like. But although you look every inch the wannabe model excited to get going, you also have an air of nervousness.

"Let's start with you just as you are now. And remember, despite your consent statement, I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with. We can stop at any time."

"That's so nice of you, Mr Armstrong. But I really want to do this. And I actually don't mind getting naked for you. I just hope you like what you see."

"That's good. But remember, you aren't getting naked for me. This is just to see how you handle modelling and get some test shots. It's not for my pleasure."

"That's a pity," you mumble under your breath.

"Sorry?"

"Nothing, just hope I'm pretty enough."

We start with you fully clothed, sitting at the room's large dressing table. You're a natural, moving easily through the poses I request, and some of your own. It's all quite innocent, despite the way your boobs look twice their size thanks to that black bustier. Simple full-length shots of you reading, playing on your phone and touching up your makeup.

After a while you surprise me: "Mr Armstrong. I'm sure you know what you're doing, but can I make a suggestion?"

"Err, OK. That's not really the done thing for a new girl at a test shoot, but go on."

"Well, I just think pictures from the waist up would look good, especially in this top. And I think I can be sexier, if you'd like that."

"OK, show me what you mean."

You turn your chair to facing the camera, tousle your hair, bring you elbows in to push your boobs together, and strike the most perfect innocent-but-naughty expression, biting your bottom lip slightly. It's an amazing look and I start to feel a stirring in my pants. You are so fuckable in this moment.

"That's good, Chloe. Very good."

You smile briefly and get back to the sexy posing. Playing with your hair, putting a finger in your mouth, that sort of thing. At one point you lift an arm above your head, showing off your smooth armpit and lifting your boobs slightly out of the bustier. It's a great look.

We're really getting into it now, working as a team, trying new poses and lighting setups. It's fun. But most of all, a huge turn on for us both.

After a while it's time to move on. "OK, Chloe, that was great. How about we try some shots in your bra and panties, but only if you are comfortable with that?"

"That would be difficult."

"Why's that?"

"I'm not wearing a bra."

I hadn't given it much thought before, but now as I stare at your chest it's obvious that the bustier is the only thing keeping your tits in place.

"That's fine. Let's try panties with the bustier then."

You slip off your shoes, then turn away from me, standing, to peel off your jeans. I'm just taking a sip from my glass of water as you do, and almost spray it over the carpet like you see in comedy films.

As you bend forward to slip the last few inches of denim from your feet, I see your panties for the first time. They are incredible: black like your bustier, almost sheer, and very small. Two tiny triangles and two bits of string. A masterpiece of modern fashion. And with you bending at the waist, the total effect of your panties and your bum is amazing.

I fiddle around with camera, tripod and lights, pretending not to watch you but you take a sneaky peak over your shoulder and smile when you catch me staring. You slip your fuck-me shoes back on.

"Is this OK, Mr Armstrong?" you say as you turn to face me, hooking a thumb under the string on one side to show me what you're referring to.

"Err, yes. Very nice."

"Thank you. Where do you want me?"

"Let's start back on the chair."

We get some superb shots as you go through just about every possible pose. You sit with your feet up on the chair and your arms wrapped around your legs. You sit with your feet on the floor and your legs open. You lean back with your arms above your head, your body stretched in a long, sultry pose. You lift one foot up onto the dressing table, showing more of your panties-clad pussy than is decent. Every move you make is excellent, each one sexier than the last.

I'm struggling to hide the erection growing in my trousers. And I think I spy a damp patch on your knickers.

"Really nice, Chloe. If it's all right with you, I think we should try some shots with you facing away from the camera."

"Bum shots?"

"Exactly. Bum shots."

You smile as you stand, move the chair around 180 degrees, hold the back of it, spread your legs slightly, bend at the waist and push your bum out. I can literally feel my pulse quicken. It's all I can do to hold the camera steady. But I do, and get some great shots as you hold the pose, and then turn your head to look over your shoulder down the lens. The tiny panties are doing an amazing job of covering your pussy, but only just.

You are a natural at modelling, I'm discovering. You place one hand on your bum. You lift a leg up onto the chair. And then you blow my mind when you open your legs, lean fully forward and look at me through your legs. In this pose, your ass cheeks open up more and I can see the outside edges of your shaved asshole, now barely covered by the string of your panties. Fuck, I want you.

After ten minutes of this I suggest we take a break, but you're keen to press on.

"It's OK, Mr Armstrong. I'm not tired and actually I'm really enjoying this. What's next? Topless?"

"Yes, but only if you are still OK with that."

As if to answer, you look into my eyes, reach for the clasps on the front-fastening bustier, unclip it and take it off in one smooth action with both hands, releasing your sexy tits. You hold it at arm's length and let it fall to the floor. You didn't just take it off. You put on a little show for me. A stripper couldn't have done it better.

"Do you want me on the bed now!"

"Sorry, what?"

Mr Armstrong is genuinely flustered now, seeing you just in the sexiest tiny panties, so confident in your topless magnificence.

"Shall I pose on the bed?"

"Yes, that's exactly what you should do next," I reply, regaining my composure and confidence.

You slip off the shoes and your tits jiggle wonderfully as you skip across the room and jump onto the huge bed.

We start with you on your knees, in relatively innocent poses. Your hands on your hips, on your thighs, that sort of thing. And again, you stretch your arms above your head. Fuck, I love how your armpits look, and how your tits lift and change shape in that pose.

Things go up a notch. You cup your breasts, with the sexiest look on your pretty face. Then we try different positions: on your back, your tummy, your side and all fours.

After 20 minutes or so we seem to reach a natural pause.

"Well, that was great, and I think we have more than enough topless poses now. Given this is your first time, you've done very well indeed..."

"Thank you, Mr Armstrong! I'm so glad you think I'm doing well. But we still have more to do, don't we?"

"Well, I know originally we discussed nude pictures, but given the situation, with the lack of chaperone, and considering how well you've done, we should probably call it a day."

"But I really want to finish the shoot, and I thought you'd need the nude pictures if I'm to get that type of work. I don't mind about the lack of chaperone. I feel safe with you and I'm really enjoying myself."

I must admit, you are certainly making a very convincing case for pressing on.

"If you really are sure, I suppose we could take a few nudes, just to finish off the shoot."

"Great! So can I take my knickers off now?"

"OK."

With that cleared up, you lay on your back, lift your legs together straight into the air, and peel your panties off. I get a lovely glimpse of your pussy. You toss the tiny scrap of black material aside and lie with your legs on the bed, straight and together, your arms once again stretched above your head.

I can barely believe what I'm seeing. Your pussy is completely smooth, just as it was for our last role play, but above it is a small, perfectly trimmed landing strip. This is the first time you've sported one and I love it.

We get back to the shoot, with quite tame legs-together shots. On your back, then on your side, you look great in every pose. You roll over onto your other side, facing away from me, still with your legs together for an amazing bum shot.

"Well, Chloe. I think we're done. That's all I need."

You look disappointed as you roll over. "OK... but are you sure you don't want some more revealing poses? So far my legs have been together since I took my knickers off."

"Chloe, mine is a respectable agency. Yes, we supply nude models. But for tasteful assignments for reputable clients. We aren't in the porn business. That's degrading to women and goes against everything I stand for."

"I understand. And I'd never do porn. But don't you think it's worth getting some saucier pictures? Just in case you ever need a girl for that type of work? You may never need them, but I'm OK with it. I've come a long way to be here, and it seems a shame to leave things there. And I do have a very pretty pussy - see?"

At those words, you lie back, lift your knees and, with your feet flat on the bed, open your legs. You weren't lying about your pussy: it looks lovely, as pretty as you. It's also clearly very wet.

"Well, er, yes, it is certainly photogenic. And I suppose what you say makes sense. No harm in getting a few pink shots in."

"Pink shots?"

"Yes, sorry, industry term. Pink means vagina shots. Actually, specifically with the labia being held open. But we definitely don't have to go down that road!"

"I really don't mind showing pink for you, Mr Armstrong."

You reach down with both hands and delicately open up your pussy for me, just slightly.

"Is that OK?"

You are suddenly in control now, driving the pace of things. I'm just following your lead. It's a turnaround in the dynamic that I'm liking a lot.

"Er, yes, that's OK."

The next few minutes go by in a blur. You seamlessly move from pose to pose. Gradually getting sexier, if that's even possible. I get carried away in the moment, urging you on: "Hold your boobs, pinch your nipples... Turn around, get on your hands and knees... Spread your legs wider... Show me more pink... Look at me... Look as though you're with your boyfriend and you're trying to turn him on..."

You giggle at this last instruction. "I don't have a boyfriend, but it looks like I'm turning someone on." You nod towards my groin.

"Oh Chloe, I'm so sorry. This is so inappropriate. This is just the sort of thing I never wanted to happen and why I shouldn't be here alone with you. We should end the shoot now. I have plenty of great shots anyway."

"Don't be silly, Mr Armstrong. These things happen. You're a man, after all, and it's not surprising that seeing a naked girl with her legs open is having an effect on you. It's really quite flattering, especially as you're so experienced at this and see so many hot models."

"Well, if you are sure. I just can't do anything about my, you know..."

"Hard-on."

"Yes. That."

"It's OK. And as long as it's in your pants it's not really inappropriate, is it."

"I guess not."

We carry on with the shoot, you getting into sexier and sluttier poses.

You save the best for last: on your back, your legs bent and open wide, cupping your tits, pinching your nipples, with your head hanging off the edge of bed as you gaze upside down into the lens, your lips moist and parted, your hair hanging down to the floor.

My dick is still rock hard. I am aching to take it out and slip it into your mouth. But that's not how Mr Armstrong does things.

"Chloe, that's a great place to finish. I've run out of memory on the camera's SD cards anyway, we've taken do many shots. I'm just going to the bathroom, so you can get dressed in here."

I slip into the bathroom as you are getting up from the bed. With the door closed behind me, I pull down my trousers and underwear, turn on the sink's cold tap, and put my hard dick under the water. Gradually my hard-on subsides, I dry myself off and join you in the bedroom.

You're sitting upright on the edge of the bed, dressed, waiting patiently.

"What time is your train, Chloe?"

"In about 90 minutes."

"OK. Well, I think I'll get a drink in the hotel bar. You're welcome to join me if you need a place to kill some time before your train. Then I'll call you a taxi to the station, on me of course."

"Thank you, that sounds great. I'd love to have a drink with you. I think we could both use one after the past couple of hours."

But in the lift on the way down you seem quiet and distracted. I let it go, steering you gently to the bar when we reach the ground floor.

We take a seat and within seconds an attractive young waitress, dressed in a very classy way, comes to take our order. I notice you look her up and down, then at your clothes.

I order a Long Island iced tea, this hotel's trademark cocktail. Chloe the factory girl asks for a pint of lager in that lovely, slightly common but very sexy accent.

We chat over our drinks, you're still friendly, but the confidence seems to be ebbing away from you.

Eventually I ask: "Chloe, are you OK? You seem a little quiet since we finished the shoot. I really hope you aren't regretting it. But if you are, I am happy to delete any pictures you're uncomfortable with."

"No, it's not that, Mr Armstrong..."

"Please, we're not working now. Call me Richard."

(You smile at hearing once again that I am using my real name.)

"OK. It's not that, Richard. It's just... I don't know... I felt so comfortable and relaxed with you during my test shoot. But now it's seven p. m., I'm in a swanky hotel bar, with a nice man, and I feel so out of place. Especially sitting here in this top with my boobs on show, and wearing jeans of all things! I must look really chavvy, even a bit slutty."

"You're wearing what you felt comfortable in when you left this morning. You weren't to know you'd be staying this late. You didn't even know you'd be going anywhere other than the shopping centre food court."

"I suppose. But I'm just a factory girl and maybe I should forget about nice hotels, and modelling, and lovely men who don't try to take advantage of me even when they have me lying naked on a bed."

"Oh, Chloe..."

"What?"

"I... I... Sorry, I just can't say what I'm really thinking."

"Please do."

"Look, it's really not appropriate for me to talk like this. But I have to say, there is not a single thing chavvy or slutty about you. You look beautiful: you are beautiful, smart, funny... lovely. You can do anything and be anything you want. And I would never try to take advantage of you. Yes, if the situation was different, I would want to get to know you more, but that's not how it is."

You look into my eyes and I swear I can see tears starting to come. This isn't just a role play now. This is touching a real nerve deep inside.

Chloe the factory girl speaks next, but maybe it's also the real you talking.

"Thank you for the nice words. It really means a lot. And... do you mean what you said about if the situation were different?"

"Yes. You saw what happened to me in the room. My, er..."

"Hard-on?"

I laugh. "Yes, hard-on. That never happens. Not just because normally there are other people in the room. It's because there's something very special about you. And I don't just mean your 'great tits and killer ass'. This isn't about that, or my hard-on. You're lovely."

"Well, you are too, so lovely. And you weren't the only one getting excited up there. You must have noticed how wet I was."

"I'd have had to be blind not to."

"And it wasn't just because I was naked in a strange hotel room. You know when you told me to imagine I was trying to get my boyfriend excited?"

"Yes..."

"I was already thinking that way. About you. And I had been pretty much since I saw you checking me out in the food court."

"Ditto..."

We sit in silence for what seems like ages but is probably just half a minute, staring into each other's eyes.

"Chloe! Have you seen the time? I'd better call you a taxi now or you'll miss your train!"

You put your drink down, twist around so you are facing me, look deep into my eyes, and say two wonderful, magical words: "What train?"

My heart really is pounding in my chest now. Looking at you. In that low cut bustier and tight jeans, knowing what you're wearing underneath, knowing you want me.

"So, you're staying here tonight, Chloe? With me?"

"Yes I am. And please, don't use words like 'vagina' and 'labia'. I know you are a professional but that made you sound like a bloody gynaecologist. I much prefer 'pussy'."

Chloe the factory girl's confidence is building.

"And don't make me record another bloody consent statement. Forget about what's appropriate and acceptable. Just take me upstairs, kiss me like there's no tomorrow, and hold me in your arms. And then do all the things you were imagining when I was naked on your bed earlier."

As it happens, we don't need a consent statement. Anyone watching footage from the lift's CCTV camera moments later would be in no doubt about your consent. As the doors close, you leap onto me, your arms around my neck, your hands in my hair, and your legs wrapped around my waist, kissing me furiously, moaning into my mouth as our tongues circle each other.

It's the same story back in the room. Hours of frustration are now followed by a wonderful make-out session, pressed against the door as soon as it closes, and then on the bed. We kiss for ages as our hands roam over each other's bodies.

Finally, you break for air and make your intentions clear.

"I'm not a slut. I never hook up with someone as soon as this. But this is different. You're different. So, I meant what I said about doing whatever you were imagining earlier."

I stand up, give you my hand and help you to your feet. Snogging again, I walk you across the floor to seat you on the chair at the dressing table. I get onto my knees, slip off your shoes, and pull your jeans down and off. You squeal with the thrill of being stripped with such force and confidence.

I lean back and look at you. It's the same location and state of undress as earlier, but that's where the similarity ends. Now we each know we are wanted.

I take a moment to gaze at those sexy, tiny, sheer black panties. If they were damp earlier, they are pretty much wet through now.

I part your legs a little further and kiss from your knees along your thighs. You lift one leg up onto the dressing table, recreating the pose from two hours earlier.

This isn't a time for teasing my way inch-by-inch. I'm at your pussy in seconds and kiss and lick you through your panties, then take the material in my mouth, so turned on by the taste of your arousal, sucking your juice from your panties. Your hands are in my hair as my tongue flicks across your clit, which I can feel through the panties.

When I stand, you stand with me, look me in the eye, reach down, slip off your panties, unbutton and unzip my trousers and pull them down. I complete the process by stepping out of my socks, trousers and underwear. You reach down again to take my dick in your hand.

"Fuck, that's huge!"

"Huge for you."

"And all mine!"

We kiss while you slowly stroke my dick against your wet pussy. Then you put your gorgeous sexy lips to my ear: "And so there's no doubt, this pussy is all yours, too. And she likes it rough."

I can take no more. In one smooth but firm action, I reach round to grab your ass, lift you onto the edge of the dressing table, and push my huge, hard dick into your wet pussy.

"Fuuucccckkkk!" You cry out as I slide deep inside you. You hold me tight in your arms, your cheek pressed to my neck.

I push you back so you are lying on the dressing table, naked apart from the satin black bustier, your tits shaking as I fuck you hard. Your fingers curl round the top of the table and your legs lift up to give me even better access to your wet pussy. I grip your haunches to maximise the force of my thrusts.

The table is shaking: even this large and heavy piece of furniture is straining under the pace of what I'm doing to you. You are getting lost in the moment, lifting your arms back behind your head, turning your face to one side, your eyes closed.

After a few minutes of this, I pull out and help you to your feet. We kiss and I tell you to turn around. You do, and bend down so that you are flat on the table, bent at the waist, still with your feet on the floor. Your tummy, boobs and right cheek are pressed against the tabletop.

"Fuck yes, do me hard," you say. "I'm so close..."

I take a moment to drink in the sight of your bum, your asshole and your soaking wet pussy before gipping your hips and forcing my dick inside. I'd instantly be able to tell that you love this position, even if real me and real you had never fucked. You practically scream out as I reach deep inside.

"Mwahhhhhhhfuuuuuuckkkkmeeee! Fuck, you're big. Fuck me, Mr Armstrong. Fuck me, Richard. Fuck your sexy factory girl. Fuck Chloe!"

After just a minute of hard fucking in this position you cry out again as your orgasm hits. You grip the table tight, push your bum back against me and shake as you come.

I am close to coming also, but decide to wait. We have all night as you no longer have a train to catch.

I help you to your feet, you turn around and we kiss again.

"Amazing... But gotta pee!"

While you're in the bathroom I sit for a moment and get my breath back. I look at myself. I'm lucky to have a fairly big dick, but right now it seems bigger than ever. You and this amazing story we're creating is having such an effect on me.

After a couple of minutes, I knock on the bathroom door.

"Come in."

As I open the door, I see you standing at the sink, leaning forwards to look in the mirror, wiping away lipstick and eye makeup smudges. You look adorable. And your bum looks magnificent. There's something so sexy, so naughty about a beautiful girl bottomless, in a way even more than completely nude.

You turn around to face me. No words are spoken. You rest your bum on the sink, part your legs ever so slightly, push your groin out towards me, take my right hand and bring it to your pussy.

Under your guidance I slip two fingers inside, curled upwards. You move my hand to show me what you want and then let go. I'm flying solo now, letting your moans tell me what to do. My fingers fuck your shaved pussy, the most brilliant squelching noises reverberating off the tiled walls. You're gripping the sink behind you, moaning and crying out as my fingers fuck you hard and fast, curling up to reach the right spot.

Suddenly you cry out "Oh my God" and grab my wrist to stop me as your squirt splashes out over my hand, your thighs, my dick and the bathroom floor.

"Fucking hell, Chloe!"

"I know. I do that. Is it OK?"

"Better than OK. I love it. I want to taste it."

I lift you onto the sink and kneel, for the first time with your naked glory under my tongue. I gently lick all over your wet thighs, your pussy lips, your clit and deep into your sexiness, tasting your juices and your squirt. It's heavenly.

After a while you stop me and tell me: "You're not the only one who likes the taste of my squirt. I do, too. And I think some splashed on your cock."

"I rather think it did."

You drop to your knees, take me in one hand and lick me from base to tip, up and down, cleaning me of your squirt, your juice from our earlier fucking, and no doubt my pre-cum.

"Yummy. Chloe and Richard taste good. And Chloe wants to taste much more of Richard."

You go to take me into your mouth, but I gently stop you.

"Not here. You know you said I can do anything I was imagining earlier?"

"Yes. And I meant it."

"Then come with me."

I lead you into the bedroom and get you to stand facing the bed. I stand behind you and reach my arms around your tummy, nuzzling my mouth into your neck. You moan at my touch, and then gasp as my hands move up, find the clasp of your bustier and release your boobs. As the bustier drops to the floor, I cup and squeeze your tits, rubbing your hard nipples with my thumbs.

"Mmmmmm... that's nice, Richard."

My mouth is next to your ear: "I'm glad you like it. I want to spend hours with your tits. But right now, I need to feel your pretty mouth around my cock. But I should warn you, I don't know how long I can last after that fucking I gave you. And I think I have a lot of cum for you, if you want it."

"That's OK. Better than OK. I said I wanted to taste more of you, and I do. I want to make this lovely, kind, considerate, sexy man come... wherever he wants."

"Fuck, Chloe..."

"And one more thing. I told you my pussy likes it rough..."

"Yeah..."

"So does my mouth. I know I said I felt slutty in the bar earlier. I hated feeling that way then. But now I'm here with you and I am a slut, your slut, just for you. And for your lovely big dick."

With that, I gently move you back to the chair, sit you down and let you take over. You smile, look up at me and kiss the tip of my dick before slipping your lips around it.

From the second I saw you in the shopping centre and when we talked in the food court, one thought has kept coming to me again and again. The thought of you taking me in your sexy mouth. It's all been leading up to this.

I stand almost motionless as you start to slowly move your mouth up and down my dick, your hands lovingly gripping my thighs. After the frantic fucking and finger-fucking I gave you, it's a nice change of pace to have such a gentle, sensual blow job.

Gradually you take me deeper into your mouth, alternating with pulling all the way back, kissing my tip and swirling your tongue over it.

"I love your cock. So much."

You look up at me.

"Fuck me, fuck my mouth, just like you imagined when you were taking pictures of me on this chair."

I don't need telling twice. I take your head in my hands, feeling your lovely soft hair, and thrust my dick into your mouth. Immediately, you start making porn star 'gluck-gluck' noises, coupled with slurping as your mouth fills with my pre-cum and your drool. It's a cocktail of shiny flavour that starts to drip from your mouth, hanging off your chin and my hard cock.

I grip your head harder as I fuck your face. It's a dream come true to be face-fucking a gorgeous, naked, slutty glamour model.

You speak through the gagging: "Yes! Fuck me! Make me your cum-slut."

I'm on the edge now but I can't stop thinking about your last pose of the 'test shoot'. I slide my dick from your mouth, pull you from the chair and throw you onto the bed. You squeal with the thrill of it. I roll you onto your back and twist you around, so your head is hanging over the edge of the bed.

"The pose. Do it."

You bend your legs and reach down to cup your tits, pushing them together and pinching your hard nipples. You tilt your head back, look into my eyes and open your mouth.

I kneel and we kiss, our tongues intertwining, so sexy with your head upside down, especially with your chin still covered in our juices.

Then I move down your neck, kissing as I go. Onto your chest, kissing and licking your tits, biting your nipples, then squeezing them. Now my dick is hovering over your face, so you take it in both hands and direct me into your mouth. In this position I can play with your tits as you wank me into your mouth. You are loving having my dick to play with, stroking and twisting it as you lick and suck me.

Then you let go with your hands and reach down, first placing your hands over mine on your tits, and then letting your fingers strum your clit.

With your hands elsewhere, I start to fuck your mouth again. You close your lips firmly around me, creating a tight seal, with your tongue swirling around my shaft. I take my hands from your tits so I can see them bounce as I build up the speed of my thrusts. You angle your head back further, pushing your mouth along my dick so that I really am throat-fucking you. Drool and my pre-cum soon pour from your mouth again, dripping over your face as you make the most wonderful slutty gagging and slurping sounds. Meanwhile, you're frantically strumming your clit, obviously getting close to another orgasm.

I hold your face and give you the last few thrusts of my dick, then pull out and wank myself over you, aiming two huge spurts of cum in your open mouth, two over your face and then more over your sexy tits. It's a huge load that had been building for hours. It's perfectly timed, too, just at the moment you shudder as you come.

Moments later, you jump off the bed, kneel before me and take my dick deep in your mouth for a few strokes, getting every last drop of my cum.

I pull back as you lean back against the bed, looking satisfied, my lovely naked Chloe with her messed-up hair and cum still glistening over her face and tits. You scoop it up with your fingers, pushing as much as you can grab into your mouth, loving drinking every drop of my spunk. It's such a horny site, my dick is still hard, so I lay on the plush hotel carpet and pull you on top of me.

"Fucking hell, you can't be serious," you say as I guide my dick into your drenched pussy.

"This is what you're doing to me."

I reach for your bum as you lean forward, moaning through our kisses as I pound your pussy again. I reach further, stroking your smooth asshole as we fuck.

You sit up and ride me fast and deep with your hands on my chest, pushing your tits together, which I stroke and squeeze, pinching your nipples. Then you grind my dick deep in your pussy until we come together, when you collapse on top of me, your face against my neck.

Later, in the huge hotel bath, you squat over my face, facing towards my feet, and I bring you to another orgasm by licking your asshole while fucking you with my fingers.

We shower together, soaping each other clean, and then you stand in front of me with one hand on my chest as we kiss under the running water. The other hand wanks me until you kneel and take another load in your mouth, swallowing every drop.

As we dry each other off, we realise we are both famished, so I order from room service and we eat before finally drifting off to sleep, spooning with one of your hands reaching back to hold my dick and mine cupping your sexy tits.

Around 3.00 am we wake and without words you climb on top of me again for an intimate, slow fuck in just enough light to see each other before we come together and fall asleep in each other's arms.

You awake at 9.00am to find me gone, with an envelope on my pillow. Inside is £200 and a note: "Darling Chloe, you are perfect just as you are. I had to get to work, and you looked too peaceful to wake. The hotel room is yours until 12.00. Breakfast will be with you at 10.00. This should cover your taxi and train. You have my number... please use it. R. X"