Extra Money

Mandy sat quietly, letting Kevin do the talking. She had always left him to discuss any business issues, even though, of course, this was unusual. She had followed her wifely principles for too long to feel comfortable about changing them now.

It wasn’t as if he seemed any more comfortable about this than she did: as he spoke, he wrung his hands slowly, tried to make a joke occasionally – but repeatedly glanced nervously across at her. She knew that he felt intense guilt about this, and she could obviously not be comfortable – but she felt that she was ready for the experience. She had convinced him that she was. She wondered briefly if she had convinced herself.

They were seated on a large couch, in a surprisingly large home in an unexpectedly affluent neighbourhood. Facing them were two younger men, probably in their mid- to late-twenties. They had introduced themselves as Jerry and Paul. Kevin was in his early forties, but she had been quite younger when they married and was only (only!) thirty five now.

Mandy thought of herself as a caring wife. She had left school when she fell pregnant, and they had married soon after. With no real education to speak of, she had stayed at home with both children, and it was fortunate that Kevin’s career had taken off so well. When he suggested that he start his own company, it had been natural to support him. And when it finally fell apart, and they found themselves broke, she remained as committed to assisting him as ever.

Kevin was speaking now: “We wouldn’t be here if we really didn’t need the money. But the bank is threatening to foreclose, and we simply have no other avenues left. You know, we could pick up odd jobs, but that wouldn’t pay the boy’s schooling. And nobody’s hiring“

Mandy said quietly, seriously, “And I don’t really have any experience that would help. Poor Kevin – he carries this on his own”.

There was silence for a while. The two men watched, appraising the couple thoughtfully. Kevin was clearly worried: the financial strain had engraved lines into his forehead and around his eyes. Mandy, on the other hand, seemed demure, calm, patient. She was dressed conservatively: black pleated skirt tucked carefully under her, reaching to her knees. A dark blue-buttoned blouse, with lace collar, black heels, black pantyhose. Even while seated like this, the men could see the weight of her breasts pressing against the material.

Kevin spoke again: “Anyway – Mandy came across your advertisement. She suggested I should call you. I couldn’t believe it when she showed me.”

Mandy again: “I figured - they’re just photographs, right? I mean – I don’t know if a thirty five year old is ok, but it was worth a shot. “ There was a pause again. “Right?”

Finally Jerry spoke, slowly. “I’ve been doing this for a while – and I’ve never had a husband bring me a model!” He laughed. “It’s definitely a first!”

Kevin gave a shallow laugh, but there was no humour in it. “You understand our situation”, he responded.

Paul cut in, seriously: “I need to be sure that you understand ours.” He leaned forward in his chair and faced the couple directly. “Jerry and I take porn pictures and movies. These are not art shots we’re talking about. There is a market for models like Mandy, but these shots would be very … explicit.”

He paused, and all of the men looked at Mandy, gauging her reaction. She, in turn, looked at Kevin. “We need the money, hon. I can do it, if I know it will help, and it won’t change anything between us.” Moments passed while he searched her eyes.

“It wouldn’t change anything for me”, he finally replied, although the indecision coloured his voice.

She nodded, and turned to the two strangers. “Then I’m ready”.

Paul was clearly the businessman here: he stood up and fetched some papers from an adjoining room, then placed them on the table in front of Mandy. “These are release papers. They authorise us to use your photographs commercially, and they also provide details regarding the payment. I’m going to need your signature before we go any further.”

Mandy pushed the papers to Kevin, who picked them up and reviewed them briefly. He looked up: “You want her to sign these before you even take pictures?”

Paul nodded. “It’s a measure of commitment. We don’t want to waste our time on someone who’ll change their mind afterwards. It also means you have a contractual guarantee that we’ll pay. It’s the way I like to do business.”

After glancing at it again, Kevin posed the question to Mandy: “You really sure you want to go through with this.”

“Yes. I’m not looking forward to it – but we need the money, Kev. We need the money.”

He pursed his lips, then passed the papers to her in silence. She took the pen proffered by Paul and carefully signed where he pointed.

Jerry was smiling broadly. “Excellent!”, he declared.

Paul, however, was still businesslike. He put a hand on Kevin’s shoulder: “I don’t think you should stay around for the shoot. It’s not something a husband should watch.”

Kevin looked around at the scene before him. He had just been party to selling his wife to pornographers. His mouth was dry, and he felt irrationally cheated. He needed some air. He rose wordlessly and left the room. The door shut. Within moments they heard the motor car start and pull away. Mandy was alone with the two men.

The mood in the room had suddenly changed. Kevin’s presence had obviously inhibited the men, because now they leaned back in their chairs, took sips from their beers and began to set Mandy at ease.

“Don’t be embarrassed”, said Jerry, “but photographing you is really going to be a pleasure.”

“Really?”, she asked, coyly. “Why?

“Are you kidding me? Are YOU kidding ME?” He stood up, shook his arms as he spoke. “Man – look in the mirror. You’re fucking beautiful!”

He was shamelessly flattering her, but she found it pleasing, and encouragingly light-hearted after all the discussions that had led to this point.

Jerry wagged his thumb at Paul “You know, to him every woman is just a job. Just another pair of tits and pussy.” Mandy froze at the words, but Jerry carried on regardless, not noticing any change. “But for me, there’s a whole psychology about a woman stripping for men. You know – she starts by being a bit shy, but then she’s down to her underwear, and she realises that every man in the room’s got a hard-on. She begins to enjoy it. She shows her titties, and all their eyes watch. She pulls down her panties slow, like, to tease them. And then she opens her legs, and the camera is there, at her cunt, and she’s wetttt.”

He was watching her with a knowing smirk, because she had unknowingly responded to his words by leaning slightly forward in her chair. She realised suddenly that it would be her, undressing item by item for them. Would they have erections as she proceeded, examining her underwear, inspecting her body, putting the camera lens right up her legs, zooming in on her – she chose to use her own word, the intimate word she shared with Kevin – her kitty? Without intending it, her heart had suddenly beat faster, her breath caught in her throat, and a sexual jolt caused her vaginal muscles to momentarily, startlingly, contract.

Paul was wandering around the room, setting up equipment, not wasting any time. Almost indifferently he glanced across at her and said: “Don’t listen to Jerry. He always talks like this. He loves his job too much, is all.”

But Jerry would not be contained. “You don’t see the psychology of a woman opening her legs for a man for the first time, letting him see her naked little lips for the first time? You do, don’t you?”

She didn’t move, but she had the strongest image of herself, lying back, parting her legs while these two men examined her, photographed her, left nothing unexplored. He was still talking: “She hides herself between her legs, under her skirt, behind her panties. And then one day lifts the skirt, pushes down the panties, lies back, spreads herself open and lets a man see.”

She took a sip of her drink to hide her discomfort at his words, but he saw it and pressed on. “Do you know how many women start out doing this nervously, and end up as slutty exhibitionists? They like seeing our reactions.” He sat next to her on the chair, and she realised with a start that Paul had started taking photographs of her, of them both. “They like to see how they excite us, and so they show us everything that we want to see. You’re going to show us everything we want to see, aren’t you?”

She tried to give a dismissive remark, but her voice sounded thin and choked: “Well – that’s what I’m being paid for, isn’t it?”

Paul cut in. “We thought it would be a good idea to let Jerry strip you and pose you as I take the photographs. It will make a really erotic set if everyone can see that you’re being undressed and admired by a man.”

“I don’t know”, she said. “That’s not what we said…”

“Well – it’s not different, really. You’re still just undressing. It’s not sex or anything. Trust me, it will make these pictures far more saleable.”

“We won’t do anything you don’t want”, said Jerry softly. “That’s not what we’re about. This is a straight photographic session. But we do have to make it as sexy as we can, right?”

She stared at the two men, unsure whether this was slipping out of control or not.

Paul smiled. “I’ll add 10 percent onto the fee, ok? And you really won’t be doing anything different.”

Both men were smiling, friendly. She relented. “Alright, fine”, she said, trying to give a nervous smile in return. “But don’t try anything.”

“Of course not.”

Jerry had shifted himself alongside her. Paul had wandered over to the TV, and she realised with a sense of some disquiet that he was putting a video on. The image on the screen was that of a man standing behind a woman. He was holding up her skirt with one hand, while the other was inside her panties, clearly stroking. The woman was leaning back into him, her head on his shoulder, an expression of pain and ecstasy on her face. The sighs and murmurs of sex filled the room. “Don’t be embarrassed”, he said. “If you’re feeling sexy we’ll see it on the photographs. Just imagine you’re her.”

It shouldn’t be right that these two – boys - could be having an effect on her. This was just about money, nothing else. She’d be out of here in a couple of hours and then this wouldn’t matter. It was just about the money.

But now Paul had positioned himself in front of her and was taking pictures at regular intervals., and Jerry had started nonchalantly to stroke her hair.

Paul: “Mandy, I want you to watch the camera or Jerry. You’re either looking straight at the lens, or you’re interacting with him, ok? No blank stares into space.”

She nodded, apprehensively, realising that it had actually begun. Paul was running his fingers through her hair gently, talking all the time. “I wasn’t kidding, you know. I think you are beautiful. Really.”

“Thank you”, she said. “I’m alright, I guess.”

“Way better than that”, he said. “I couldn’t believe it when you walked in here. “ His fingers ran across her cheek. Click. “You have really amazing tits.”

She laughed at his choice of language. “Why? Do they amaze you?”

“Oh yeah.” The humour seemed lost on him. “They’re fucking am-a-zing.”

Paul: “Keep you legs a bit open, Mandy. Knees apart, ok? All the time.”

In the strangest of ways, Mandy felt special. Two young, attractive men were focusing their considerable attention on her. She knew that very soon, now, her clothing would be removed, the cool air would touch her everywhere, and they would be watching, admiring, commenting. Of course Jerry was spinning her a line (how many women did he say this to?), but it didn’t seem to matter. His words were kind and calming. On the TV, the woman had been stripped to a bra only, and she was unzipping a man, taking a very erect penis between her lips. He caught his breath in pleasure.

Paul: “Jerry, lift her skirt now – I want panties.”

Jerry almost whispered in her ear: “Time to pay the rent, Mandy.” He reached down to the hem of her skirt and picked it upwards., but she was sitting on it and had to half lift up to let it loose. Being a pleated skirt, though, it came out full and he could raise it up without difficulty. She felt cool air on her legs, and involuntarily closed them, but Paul cut in: “No, no. Open wide. “

Mandy was wearing powder-blue high-cut French panties, semi-transparent in the front, with a delicate embroidered fringe. Although they had not yet seen it, her brassiere was part of the matching set. It was the most erotic underwear she owned: it had seemed appropriate for the moment.

As she parted her legs, she wondered how revealing it was. Certainly, the men were engrossed, having fallen into silence. She felt contradictory emotions: the heat rising in her face, and a shiverthrill that these men were examining her this closely. After long moments, Paul interjected: “Alright Jerry, pull the panties to one side so we can catch those lips.”

Mandy’s hands flew down between her legs, covering herself. “So soon?”, she asked, realising how nervous she was, clasping them tightly with her thighs.

“It had to happen at some point”, whispered Jerry in her ear. He still held up her skirt for Paul – she wondered if her nervousness could be seen on camera.

Paul looked up. “You signed the contract Mandy. Time to ante up”.

“I know”, she said; “but couldn’t we wait a bit?”

Paul sighed. His annoyance was evident. “Mandy – open your legs and take your hands away.”

“Later?” she whispered.

“No. Now.” His voice was flat, his eyes hard.

“I thought I was ready for this, but I’m not so sure I can do it.”

He stood up. “You don’t have a choice, little girl”, he snapped.

As if it was choreographed, Jerry put his arm around her, grabbed both her wrists and pulled them behind her back. Her face was forced into the cushion as he bent her over and pressed her down and her scream was muffled. She tried unsuccessfully to kick, for she was bent over into a uncomfortable stance. Jerry’s knee was in her back now, and her shoulders ached with the force of him pulling her arms back. Her wrists were forced together. She frantically tried to shake him off, but the cold feel of the steel on her wrists echoed the cold fear in her stomach. She lay helpless on her face, screams lost in the cushions of the chair. She finally turned her face to look at the men, to plead. Paul was quietly picking up the camera again.

He spoke to Jerry now: “How many times do these bitches try this shit?”

“I know, I know. “ Jerry sighed. “It takes them a while to learn, Paul.”

“Please let me go”, she whimpered.

“Fuck that”, said Paul. “Like I said – it’s time to ante up. Life up that skirt, Jerry, and pull off her panties. It’s time to take a look at her arse.”