This is the last of the present series. It's possible I may write more in future, but for now, 'this is it.' Thank you for following, and reading my efforts. Best wishes to you all.
I suppose, looking back, that my fun with Eliza's sisters could be looked on as a bit of, 'revenge,' sex, by proxy, on behalf of my lover Eliza, but even then it was only very mildly so, proper revenge sex had never really interested me. Perhaps the short fling I had with Kate Smyth came as close to that as I'm ever likely to be.
As you have already read in previous episodes, during my time at University I was working as a strip-o-gram, or male stripper for a model agency. It gave me extra income which helped finance myself at university, and allowed me to meet lots of hot, sexy woman. It was well paid, and I also did some exclusive and very private work, off the books, thanks to my 'best friend.' for which I was even better paid. Occasionally, if required, I also took part as a male model in any fashion shows the agency helped to run. Personally, I preferred stripping, because it was better paid, and the women I met through that were more honest and direct. However, it was at one of these fashion shows that I first met Kate.
She came to the agency as a new model, but already having a great deal of experience in the fashion world. I later managed to piece together her history, which began with her being, 'discovered,' by a model agency when she was around fourteen years old. Always eager for fresh, new talent, she was featured in a few top-class magazines, and was considered one to look out for in the future, being too young to work full time while still at school.
Once she was old enough, she was placed on the books of one of the top agencies, and from there it was a few short months before she was taking part in photo shoots and catwalk fashion shows in places as diverse as Paris, London, New York, Milan, and wherever the fashion, 'circus,' needed her. To all intents and purposes, she had, 'made it.' She was in the top fifty, world class fashion models on the circuit.
She told me later that she simply got fed up of the paranoia; constantly starving herself to remain thin, the sheer panic if she developed a 'spot,' the bitching of the other models, living out of a suitcase, the hangers on, the seedy characters on the periphery. She wanted something more solid, and eventually she wanted, 'out,' and quit. After a few months of soul searching, and taking stock, she decided to return to her studies and applied for a place as a student at university. She looked around for a part time job while at university, rather than live off her savings, and what more natural for her than part-time modelling? That's where she came into my life, and at first we didn't get on at all.
She was beautiful, let there be no mistake about that. A girl doesn't get to be one of the world's top models by being ugly. She was, as you would expect for a fashion model, very tall, about five foot nine inches, and very slim, with shapely legs that seemed to go on forever, long, natural blonde hair, blue eyes, and a, 'pouty,' sensual mouth that gave her a young Brigitte Bardot look. She was beautiful, but after years of modelling, she knew that all too well. I don't know if she even realised that she came across as arrogant and condescending, but she did, and it annoyed other models in the agency too.
When she was on the catwalk she was sheer class, head and shoulders above every other model, and I mean in professionalism, experience, looks, but off it, she was a complete nightmare. Continually bitching and complaining about the make-up artists, the hairdressers, the dressers, the other models. She had been used to the very best of everything as a top-class model, and didn't seem to realise that she was working for a small agency in a small city, and things were very different now.
She wasn't dealing with a world class back-stage crew as she had been used to; it was mainly people working on a voluntary basis for a charity fashion show, and as such they were giving up their time for no reward. The other models were mostly working for nothing, while she was being paid a fee. A small fee it has to be said, nothing like the money she had been used to, but a fee none the less.
After she'd ripped into the make-up artist, the hairdresser and a few of the other, 'models,' for being unprofessional, I tried to have a word with her, advising her to keep calm and not cause bad feelings back-stage. She turned on me and told me to mind my own business, it had fuck all to do with me. I told her she may have been a big-time model before, but now she was no better than anybody else, and she may get along better if she stopped being such a bitch. She went loopy.
'Who the fuck do you think you are?' she virtually screamed at me. 'What the fuck do you do in this agency? Are you the fucking boss? I don't remember you being in charge when I came to the agency for an interview. You pathetic shit, get out of my face, you're a nothing. Who made
you
cock of the walk?' I laughed at her, which only made her even more furious, and made me laugh all the more.
'Yes, cock of the walk, that's me,' I replied, thinking of my dick again, but left it at that. We had to cut it there anyway, because we were changing for our next walk-on, and were due back momentarily. However, I was determined to get back at her, and the changing area was a good start. Back stage at a fashion show is complete pandemonium, with maybe up to twenty models changing very quickly, it's all fast and frantic and there is no time for false modesty. Models are being helped in and out of their next outfits, putting on the right shoes for each outfit, jewellery, hair, etc.
Generally speaking, it's an open area, so very little privacy, and Kate's changing area was right next to mine. I'd been very modest so far, keeping my back turned to her as I was changing, so she didn't see me, and I didn't see too much of her, but now I turned towards her when I was changing. 'Cock of the walk, eh?' I'd show her a cock alright, and have a good look at her arse and tits while I was doing it I thought.
So, next time we rushed off stage, I whipped off my outfit, and stood there facing in her direction with no underwear on, cock to the fore. As I was pulling the shirt off, over my head, which is faster than undoing the buttons, I heard a sharp intake of breath, and looking through a gap between the shirt buttons I saw her looking at me with a shocked expression on her face. I pretended I'd gotten stuck, so there I was, with no underpants, shirt over my head, showing my all. With her being half naked now as well, my cock shot up hard as a brick and gave here even more to look shocked about.
'Have you gotten stuck my darling?' my dresser said, pulling the shirt off, giving me a wink as she did it. She grinned as she helped me with my next outfit. 'Well, that certainly shut the bitch up anyway,' she whispered. 'Give her a right good seeing to if you get the chance.' I assured her I would. She looked down at me as she helped me dress. She laughed again, 'Fuck I wouldn't mind a bit of that myself,' she admitted, 'can I give it a little rub for luck?' she joked. I nodded and grinned at her, and her fingers quickly encircled my girth, her body hiding what was going on from everybody else. She quickly rubbed me back and forth a couple of times, but there was no time for more, and within seconds I was dressed and off out onto the catwalk with a raging hard on.
I know the predominantly female audience noticed by the applause, whoops, and whistles I got when I reached the end of the catwalk. After the show I got quite a lot of attention and a fair number of names and telephone numbers thrust into my hands, but not before my dresser had helped me dress and undress a number of times, but that's getting ahead of myself a fair bit.
When I returned backstage after, Gillian, my dresser, had felt my cock and she was already working on, 'Kate the bitch,' as I thought of her then, getting her ready for her next appearance. Meanwhile, I undressed myself, that's the easy bit, making sure I was turned in their direction, letting Kate have another look at my cock. I avoided looking at her, but could see in my peripheral vision that
she
was looking at me. I could also see that Gillian was talking soft and low, laughing every now and then, so that even Kate was smiling, and then she was off, and Gillian turned to me.
