A photo-story by Janie Nicholls from Janus 30
Oh no! I was going to be late again. If only my model agency hadn’t sent me to that casting. It was a waste of time anyway. Soap commercials can’t possibly require total nudity! Anyway, I think that so-called producer was just a dirty old man. He certainly looked it. Not that that bothers me normally, because I can usually cope with that sort of thing, but when he grabbed hold of my bare bottom I clocked him one. From that moment, I’d blown it! If the job had been genuine, I could kiss two days’ work goodbye and at £100 an hour that’s a bloody expensive farewell! Oh well back to the ‘topless’ stuff and forty quid an hour… ‘knickers all week’ as they say!
The job with Rob Durham was supposed to be at three o’clock, but as I walked into the mews where his studio was, it was nearer to half past. I was in a confused state after the d.o.m. at the casting and Rob Durham’s reputation didn’t help much either. Sure, I knew that he was a good photographer, because he had some good clients, but the other girls reckoned that he could be a real bastard when things went wrong. There were even hints that he was a bit kinky and kept things like canes and straps in his studio! Nothing concrete, you understand, except for a lurid story that Tessa Sanders was fond of telling, though I don’t think that anyone actually believed it. After all, the way Tessa puts it about, I can’t imagine why anyone would want to cane her!
I was still thinking about Tessa’s story when I entered the studio. Actually, I suppose I was a bit intrigued with the thought that something which I imagined only went on in boys’ boarding schools could be practised by mature adults. I mean, if it was true that he had caned Tessa, why did she let him? She’s a real cow, but to use her own words, she’d ‘try anything — twice!’ so she must have got some sort of a kick out of it.
‘Where the hell have you been? You’re half an hour late! I didn’t book you for the good of my health, you know… I’m a professional even if you aren’t… I’m trying to complete a catalogue — today! Now I can’t get the films into the lab until tomorrow morning and it’s your fault, you stupid girl!’
He was absolutely fuming. I tried to apologise but he just didn’t want to know.
‘I don’t give a damn what your reasons are — you’re late and I’ll make sure your agency hears about this! Now get into the dressing room and get made up. I’ve had Molly here since 2.30 waiting to do your make-up and she costs nearly as much as you do!’
I scurried into the dressing room out of his way. It was going to be bloody hell working with him in that mood and I wasn’t looking forward to it at all!
Molly made me feel a little better and did the make-up in record time. She said that Rob’s bark was worse than his bite!
‘Besides,’ she added with a knowing wink, ‘I think he fancies you, Janie. He always tries to dominate the girls he fancies — it’s part of his technique!’
Suitably warned, I entered the studio wearing only the silk dressing gown that was part of my model kit I could just imagine what his reaction would have been if I’d started the shoot with elastic marks from my knickers and bra.
‘Okay,’ he said forcefully, ‘get your arse over here so I can check the lighting!’
He was waving a flash meter and a battered old Pentax and he looked really dishy under the modelling lights of the brollies. I had to admit that he was quite fanciable and I almost envied Tessa. I wasn’t sure about the caning though — Tessa could keep that!
For a while he busied himself with the lights, moving them in and out, taking readings and checking everything. He was very professional, doing every task silently and efficiently. Finally he spoke.
‘Right,’ he said, ‘get your arse into a pair of those knickers and let’s get on with it.’
I selected a pair from a number which had been hung on an aluminium step-ladder, beside the backdrop. It was quite amusing really. I could tell that he fancied me, although he was trying not to show it. The only thing that gave him away was his over-use of the word ‘arse’ — he seemed a bit obsessed by it!
It didn’t take long to get a rapport going. He was great to work with, but unlike most photographers he didn’t overdo the flattery. Mind you, when he did say something like ‘fantastic’, I felt that he actually meant it!
He threw the Pentax into a chair and confronted me.
‘Okay babe,’ he said coolly, ‘get out of those and put your cute little arse into that white cotton pair.’
He helped me on the way with a smack on my bottom as I went past him: I wasn’t going to let him know, but I quite enjoyed the physical contact between us. Now that I knew what turned him on, I made sure that he saw plenty of my bottom whilst I was changing. It was really quite exciting. I enjoy modelling, because I think that there is something of the exhibitionist in all girls and if I’m working with a good photographer I get quite a kick out of displaying myself. The rapport between us is another part of the same thing. It simply amounts to flirting with the camera and most of the time the photographer and the model recognise it for what it is. Occasionally though, it goes beyond that!
The session picked up momentum and I found it hard not to ‘wind him up’. It wasn’t that I ‘blew it’, I unconsciously found the trigger that fired his bullets! My posing and preening must have gone just a bit over the top!
‘For Pete’s sake Janie, were not doing a ‘tit ‘n’ bum’ magazine!’
He was fuming again and to be honest he rather took the wind out of my sails. I was only having a bit of fun so I put my tongue out. It was sort of instinctive but the strobes popped and the Pentax clicked and whirred. Oh hell! He’d pressed the button!
‘Look here!’ he stormed and the poor old Pentax had the flash lead jerked out of its socket ‘We’re supposed to be shooting a legit catalogue. I can’t use half the bloody stuff you’re giving me — it’s too raunchy. Old man Claxton would have a fit!’
He was right of course, I had overdone it and I was immediately sorry. It cut no ice with him and he was getting agitated. I felt a little frightened of him when he was in this mood because it was such a contrast to his working style. The last thing I wanted was to upset him again, just when we were getting along fine. Besides, he had a lot of good clients I could work for — if we hit it off and did good shots. Models are supposed to be neurotic, but half the bloody photographers I work with are more temperamental than Henry VIII!
‘What the hell’s the matter with you anyway?’ he snapped. ‘First of all you turn up half an hour late, then you start winding me up with all that arse-posing and to top it off you stick your tongue out just when I’m about to take a shot! As it happens I was hoping to do some ‘tests’ of you for the AGN advertising campaign but now you’ve fucked it!’
Oh… so now it was professional blackmail, was it? I don’t deny that I would have loved the job — the AGN posters are a real prestige thing for models. Do one of them and you’ve made it. Hmm… I was beginning to understand where Tessa Sanders fitted into all this, the bitch doesn’t miss a trick.
‘For heaven’s sake, don’t you have a sense of humour?’ I snapped back.
‘I haven’t got time to be so self-indulgent when I’m working and neither should you. Your attitude is unprofessional and I shall contact your agency. I would have liked to use you on the AGN campaign but I can’t take the chance!’
Terrific! That’s all I needed — another blown assignment and an agency ready to make me persona non grata!
‘Look, I’m really, really sorry…’ I pleaded ‘… don’t tell the agency… they’d go hairless — I’ve already been warned twice.’
‘You’re crazy,’ he said eagerly. ‘A little bit of self-discipline and you could be one of the top models. I actually did want to use you on the AGN thing.’
He wasn’t kidding — he really meant it and I could see it in his eyes. I didn’t feel any better for knowing that, in fact I felt something of a fool. I would have done anything to have put the clock back a few hours — well, almost anything!
‘You still can use me — can’t you?’
I was pleading again, unable to control the words that spilled like milk from a bottle. It was important that he reconsidered. Important to me, because his professional opinion was all that mattered. Desperately I struggled to find something to please him. What could I say? What could I do? He was hesitant — unsure. Say something. Anything. Something. Say something …
‘If you could only stop being uptight. Get rid of your tensions. Stop making a mountain out of a mole-hill and get things into perspective. Why don’t you cane me, if that’s what you want — if that’s really what you want!’
He looked absolutely stunned. For a brief moment I held the initiative, equally shocked by my own stupid impulsiveness. Why oh why couldn’t I think before I spoke? Being a creature of impulse can get you into a whole heap of trouble and I had the uncanny knack of finding plenty of that!
‘There will be no promises,’ he said quietly. ‘I don’t do that.’
He had regained his ‘cool’ very quickly and his remark had the effect of trapping me in the corner I had verbally backed into. What on earth was I letting myself in for?
‘I… I’m not asking for any,’ I breathed, aware that my heart was pounding.
‘Right,’ he asserted. ‘You are going to be punished, not only for my pleasure, but because you’re an unprofessional, unreliable model and a prick-teasing slut.’
‘Who the hell do you think you’re talking to?’
To the confusion was now added anger. I didn’t like being called a slut and I tossed the dressing gown over my right shoulder and stalked off the set I suppose I was really looking for an excuse, because subconsciously I regretted opening my big mouth. I turned my back on him but he grabbed me by the arm and suddenly hit me hard across my knickered bottom. I struggled to pull away from his grasp.
‘Oh c’ mon Janie, it’s just a part of the game,’ he said.
I felt even more confused and I found it difficult to answer. I allowed him to pull me back onto the set, unsure if I should resist or continue with the silly game I had started. Firmly he pushed me down across his knee whilst he sat on the posing stool and jerked my knickers down.
The first smack on my naked bottom stung like bloody hell and I yelled!
‘F’chrissake, there’s no need to do it so bloody hard!’
The second was even harder and I squirmed valiantly in an attempt to escape, but he had a grip like iron and the pressure on my back reduced my struggle to an impotent wriggle.
‘But that’s the whole point, Janie my dear,’ he said sardonically. ‘If you’re going to change your attitudes, you must have something to remind you of the consequences. Now keep still, or the punishment will be more severe.’
He was unrelenting. He covered one cheek and then the other with really hard stinging slaps. I gasped and pleaded, but he was unmoved.
‘By the time I’ve finished with you, Janie Nicholls, you will be the most professional model in the business…’
CRACK! … GASP … SMACK! … YELP …
After I’d received about a dozen spanks I stopped struggling. For some odd reason it didn’t seem to hurt nearly as much. My bottom was stinging and hot, but it was like heat after cold — different and welcome. Welcome? I must be mad.
He stopped smacking me almost as soon as I had accepted it. I lay there without speaking, trying to regain my breath and feeling the heat from my bottom spreading voluptuously through my body. For a while he didn’t speak. His hand moving and stroking gently across my bottom, soothed and calmed me. For the first time that afternoon I felt content and secure. The confusion had evaporated. Suddenly, we were close.
‘Are you doing any nude stuff this week?’ he asked quietly. I shook my head.
‘Good,’ he said, helping me to my feet. ‘I’ll get the cane.’
Oh God, I’d forgotten about the cane. I wasn’t so sure that I could go through with this now. Although the hand-spanking had hurt at first, it had been fun and the after-effect was quite nice. Even sexy. Perhaps I was worrying unduly. Perhaps the cane would be the same, though I couldn’t imagine that I could possibly like it. I was committed though. I wanted to please him because it was really me that fancied him and not the other way around. Sure, he could make things difficult for me with the agency, but he could also give me good jobs and… no… no, that wasn’t the reason. It was him! I was going to go through with this absurd situation because I fancied him!
He returned with the cane and quite deliberately studied me for a while. His silence and piercing eyes unnerved and embarrassed me. Why — why did he have to be like this?
‘Take your knickers off, Janie.’
Blindly I did as he bid, trying to meet his gaze, but not speaking. I took them off and stood stiffly before him, naked except for my stilettos.
He wasted no time and bent me forward over the stool. Maybe he was afraid I might back out if he gave me half a chance to think about it. I didn’t attempt to refuse, because the confusion was back. I didn’t really want to be caned, but I wanted to please him and if I was honest, I guess I was curious. Curious to experience a part of his world and share it with him.
Whatever was about to happen, I was prepared to accept.
Sound, pain and emotion fused into one incredible time-splitting milli-second. The searing brand of the cane bit into my bare cheeks like a fire. I yelped and grabbed at the scorched flesh, desperately trying to divert the flashing pain and gain time and respite. But I was shocked into a new state of mind.
Gently and firmly he removed my hands, oblivious to my soft unhappy moaning.
The cane bit deeper and I howled with agony.
Pain was beginning to pervade every part of my lower body. I couldn’t escape its electrifying tentacles. I began to cry and plead with him. My bottom was ablaze and my legs beneath were turning to jelly. I was powerless!
The last three were quick and harder than the others, but somehow I had already resigned myself and my bottom to their fate in Rob’s hands. I uttered no sounds, all my feelings blurred into numbness. My bottom remote and somewhere behind me.
By the time my eyes and head had cleared, Rob had lifted me to my feet and had helped me into the silk dressing gown. He was calm now, gentle and very masculine. I quickly composed myself, not wishing to lose all edge.
Impulsively I kissed him on the cheek, anxious for some reaction, only to be disappointed. Gently he propelled me in the direction of the dressing room.
‘Come and see me next week when you’re free,’ he said quietly.
I turned out of the mews, still not sure if I had any sort of relationship with Rob Durham. My boiling bottom said that at least we had some sort of rapport! I knew that he wouldn’t report me to my agency and that was something. Perhaps he would use me for the AGN campaign. I’d certainly earned it the painful way!
I hailed a taxi, wondering stupidly if the driver could tell that I’d just been caned! Actually, I didn’t give a damn if he could, all I wanted to do was go home and have a hot bath and soothe my poor bottom.
I turned for a last look at the studio before the taxi was out of sight. Someone was at the top of the steps to Rob’s studio, about to go down. Now who the hell could that be, at this time of the day?
It was a girl.
Tessa bloody Sanders!
LINGERIE FROM CLAXTON GUSSETTtm