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Thursday, 22 February 2018

Shot So Trim

Photostory by Julie Holmes from Februs 13
It had been a great shoot: the garments were a perfect fit, the lighting had actually worked and the girls had followed all his instructions. He’d use that again, the photographer said as he handed over their fee — and for once he was sincere.
Their image changed drastically as they shed the filmy satin lingerie they had been modelling and switched back to their day clothes. They were both highly-attractive young women and the jeans-and-t-shirt and summer-frock ensembles enhanced their girl-next-door looks, but still there was something of the butterfly-reverting-to-a-caterpillar in their altered appearance.
Back at the flat they curled up cosily on the sofa to look at the Polaroids from the shoot. Seeing themselves glammed up always brought on fits of giggles — a mixture of pride and embarrassment at their tarty potential. It was always hard to identify with the images the camera captured Some of these pictures were definitely for private contemplation only: the session had ended with everyone in high spirits and the posturing becoming much more overtly sexual rather than the demurely seductive image the client had requested. from spontaneously bared breasts they had soon progressed through total nudity and raunchy horseplay to a return to pouting innocence in white lace. They were nothing if not ‘versatile’.
Jess and Toni had been working together for about six months and so far the partnership had been highly successful — and lucrative — although they were not so naive as to believe the fickle public would not eventually tire of them. They were uninhibited about posing in the filigree wisps and the camera loved them, bringing out an intriguing ambivalence in their relationship — were they lovers or sisters?
Actually, they were neither, but they were quite happy for the audience to fantasise about them as long as the rent was paid. And speaking of the rent…
Their landlady never obeyed the banalities of life, like knocking before entering another person’s home. She swept in, already in loud, admonishing mid-sentence when the photographs caught her eye.
‘I might have known: “models” indeed! I must say, I had my suspicions when you moved in, but I like to give folk the benefit of the doubt…’ The tirade built in intensity and volume, while both girls tried to interject with protestations of their innocence. Eventually Jess managed to raise her voice sufficiently to take advantage of their landlady’s need for breath.
‘Maureen, we ARE models — those are pictures from today’s booking. It was for the lingerie pages of a mail order catalogue.’
‘That’s right,’ Toni confirmed. ‘It’s all perfectly respectable: you’ve probably had the catalogue yourself.’
‘I don’t buy my clothes from mail order catalogues and, if I did, I’d want to know what the clothes looked like on, not how easy they were to shed. Anyway. whatever you say these pictures were for, the fact remains you earn your living stripping of and frolicking suggestively with one another. I don’t lease out my property to the likes of you. I’ll take the rent that’s due and I want you out by the end of the week.’
The girls were appalled. Firstly because decent flats were rare as the mythological gold pavements in central London and, secondly, because of the interpretation that was being put on their work. They simultaneously began to plead their case, but Maureen Donaghue simply became more entrenched in her stance.
‘You’ve got the world at your feet: good looks, brains, youth — and you ignore it all for some easy money. There are honest, decent girls out there who’d love to be able to afford a place like this, but they’ve too much pride to stoop to do the things you do.’
Toni and Jess were fast losing the logic of their landlady’s arguments but they made a show of listening politely as they tried to think of ways to placate her.
‘It’s a good slippering the pair of you need, though, by the looks of some of these pictures, you’d not object too much.’ she ranted and in desperation the two tenants shouted with one voice. ‘Okay go on then.’
All three women were astonished by this outburst and stayed motionless for a moment trying to decide whether it was a genuine offer.
Maureen was the first to regain her powers of speech and decided to call their bluff. ‘Yes, I think that would be sensible. A good old-fashioned leathering to instil some good old-fashioned values into your wanton souls.’ Somewhat to her surprise, she met no resistance, so she continued. ‘Right, Toni, you go and wait in the bedroom, while I see to your friend here.’ She turned to watch the blonde leave and something on the bookcase caught her eye.
‘What’s this?’ she asked irrelevantly.
Toni fled, leaving her friend to provide the explanations.
‘It’s a cane,’ Jess offered. ‘It’s one of our props. We just collect odd things from junk shops and car boot sales; photographers sometimes want us to supply our own accessories. We got that as a bit of a joke.’
‘Well you won’t find it so amusing when I’m through with you. I’ve more than a passing acquaintance with these toys and I’m sure you’ll be a reformed character in no time at all.’
‘Look,’ Jess spluttered, ‘you can’t actually use that on me. We’ve got another booking tomorrow: I can’t turn up with marks on me.’
‘Precisely: you won’t be able to turn up, and it will give you time to reflect and consider another career. Now bend over so I can get you warmed up.’
Still trying to think of a way to get out of the dilemma, Jess stretched across the seat of the sofa and rested her arms on its back. Her jeans hugged her rounded backside and beneath her brief top her breasts hung heavily. She had no idea how it would feel but was reasonably confident that the combination of the thick denim covering her rump and the physical constraints imposed by her landlady’s high-heels and close-fitting business suit would prevent it from being too severe.
The rod landed decisively on the drum-tight denim. Jess heard it before she really appreciated its impact; then there was a sensation of weight and heat — and the fear that it would happen again.
The second strike came within an inch of its predecessor, managing both to reinforce the lingering sting and to create a fresh agony of its own.
The third, again close to its predecessors but distinct, drew a protracted howl from its recipient.
‘Good girl, let the contrition out,’ Maureen urged, and struck again.
It was not so much contrition as confusion that filled Jess’ mind. She was undoubtedly suffering, the pain was real. Yet she was also able to rationalise what was going on and realise that the caning couldn’t last long and then their tenancy would be safe. She was also aware that Toni could hear what was going on (and might even be watching from the doorway) and didn’t want her friend to think she couldn’t take a few strokes from an old cane. And, of course, there was curiosity: she had never been caned before and, although they had joked about it, the girls had never felt comfortable about trying it out on one another.
‘Trousers down.’ The calm command took her unawares.
‘What? I…’
‘Oh, really! Must I do everything?’ Without pausing for a response, the older woman fiddled with the waist-fastening of Jess’ jeans and then yanked them to her knees.
Jess bit her lower lip and gripped the sofa harder. The short top riding up her lean torso was obscured by her long hair. Too dark to be called “blonde” and too fair for “brown” it had a natural sheen that no chemical dye could emulate and it lent its wearer an air of purity and inexperience that was distinctly helpful for her work.
Behind her, a floorboard creaked as Maureen prepared to continue her ordeal. Now there was no academic musing on her fate. The cane bit sharply and mercilessly into her naked flesh. Her hips jerked and a strange noise wound from her throat and chased itself around the room. In her head there flashed images of grotty bedsits she had previously lived in: the words “rent” and “flat” roared between her ears in a throbbing nonsensical chant that she had to grit her teeth to stop voicing aloud.
‘That’s better,’ Maureen urged. ‘Express your remorse. You’ll feel all the better for it, believe me.’
Jess could not imagine ever feeling better again. The cut of the cane on her bared skin bore no relation to the heavy heat she had experienced through the thick denim.
A fresh swipe arrived, the air hissing in anticipation as the rod sliced through the air, a cold streak entering her trembling buttocks and swiftly evolving into a spreading, raging heat.
She sobbed. Her body sagged resignedly on the sofa, yielding to her fate.
For a fleeting moment her landlady felt pity for the craven wretch, but then she glanced at the discarded photographs and delivered two rapid stripes that cruelly crossed through the fuzzing tramlines of her previous endeavours.
‘I’m sorry!’ Jess yelled and without further ado she was dismissed and Ton was summoned to take her place.
She stood nervously beside the sofa, waiting for instructions.
‘I’ll know if your remorse is not genuine,’ Maureen warned her. ‘I’ve had enough of the cane for a while, get yourself across my lap… good grief, girl, you’ve no underwear on!’
Toni had been listening to her friend’s punishment from the bedroom and wondering whether to don a pair of briefs. After the shoot she had wanted to feel the cool autumn breeze teasing her private region and had left her knickers off when they had dressed. Since Maureen was likely to make her bare her behind anyway, there seemed little point in putting any on, but as soon as she slid across Maureen’s thighs, she wished she had.
‘I don’t know: you stand there telling me you are really nice girls who earn their money respectably and then I find you swanking about the flat — my property! — with no underwear! Stay still a moment.’
Toni was aware of Maureen reaching behind the sofa for an instant and then fell a sharp slap land in the centre of her bottom. ‘If you two sluts put your things away properly them wouldn’t be so many convenient playthings for me to use on your brazen backsides.’
Glancing over her shoulder, Toni realised that it was one of Jess’ tennis shoes that was being employed. The second stroke landed far over on the outside of her right hip and she could discern the distinctive rippled pattern of the sole. Less stoic than her flatmate, she cried and swore with abandon, fuelling Maureen’s ire and earning herself a more severe spanking than either she or her chastiser had originally envisaged. She lost count of the actual number of blows that landed on her tender flesh, but was more than aware of the burning that somehow crawled deep into the fatty tissues and then tingled its way back to the surface of her skin. Each blow landed partly on already-struck flesh and partly on virgin territory, causing layers of heat that overlapped and spread insidiously. She jerked frenziedly and her golden hair flashed around her head in a mocking halo: had a photograph been taken, it would have been impossible to tell whether she was in agony or ecstasy.
Gasping for a usable breath, she managed to rasp, ‘I’m sorry,’ but was then horrified when her landlady gave a throaty laugh.
‘I’ll just bet you are, my sweet. Kneel up over the armrest.’
Toni was uncertain whether she should feel relieved or nervous, but slipped into position — at least she would have a moment’s reprieve. And a moment was all that it proved to be: a sibilant whine hinted at the cane’s trajectory even as its journey terminated on Toni’s scorching nates.
She shrieked, then screamed without a noticeable pause as the cane struck again almost immediately.
Again, the hoarse chuckle denoted her punisher’s pleasure at her discomfort, but she was told to stand up.
Calling Jess back into the room, Maureen ordered both girls to strip and then had them kneel back up on the sofa. When they had first moved in, they had loved the deep canvas-covered cushions with their bold stripes and ability to mould around them as they flopped in front of the television with convenience dinners on their laps. From now on they expected to loathe the sight of it.
‘Closer together, ladies: I’ve seen how familiar you can be with one another.’ Maureen taunted.
Even as they were shuffling their near-perfect forms towards one another, she was measuring the length of bamboo across both pairs of beleaguered buttocks. As the vicious rod cut into them simultaneously, they clasped hands and pressed against one another.
The next stripe was delivered on the previously-untouched soft skin of their upper thighs, followed by another delivered with deadly accuracy to exactly the same spot.
They clung to one another, unable to summon the energy to rebel against their fate but certain they could endure no more.
Maureen stood behind them, trying to decide whether to execute a quick-fire tattoo on their crimson posteriors or a protracted striping of the sensitive tract of thigh-flesh.
In the event, she administered neither, because the telephone began to ring. The models were in no state to handle the call, so their landlady took the initiative and answered on their behalf. A broad grin spread across her face as she first listened to the caller and then responded with a curt ‘Toni and Jess are no longer available for such sessions,’ and abruptly replaced the receiver.
Again. the cluttered bookcase proved a source of inspiration and she picked up Toni’s camera, delighted to find it had a film in it that was only half-used.
‘Now we’ll have some snaps we can all appreciate,’ she laughed, getting in close for a detailed shot of her handiwork.

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