Free Anything for Money: A Sex-For-Hire College Romance by Lindsey Bedder Page A

ceiling. My pussy lips seeming to grab at the cloth of my panties with the same throbbing rhythm of my whole body. If this wasn’t a photo shoot, you would have thought I was primed for penetration.
    The camera went: *Click* *Click* *Click*
    “You can’t use my face,” the guy said automatically.
    It was a high, nasal voice, and I suddenly recognized him. He was another student in RJ’s photography class. I rarely saw him. To me, he was mostly an annoying, opinionated drawl in the darkness that made caustic comments about other people’s work. There was no love lost between this guy and the other students.
    “Archibald, if you don’t want your face in the pictures, keep it out of my viewfinder,” RJ said. “Because fuck yeah, this is going in my project. These are excellent pictures.”
    “That’s great,” I said, glad to have feedback.
    RJ added, “Don’t cover her up, Archibald.”
    “No one calls me Archibald,” said Archibald. “Call me Onyx.”
    Archibald was categorically drunk. He started tipping to the side. I grabbed his arms and steadied him over me.
    “Stop moving around,” he said.
    “I’m helping you,” I said.
    When he was stable enough, he leered down at me and grabbed my breasts, one in each hand.
    *Click* *Click*
    “Can I call you ‘whore’?” he asked.
    I knew I should say no, out of principle. But it was an unexpected piece of flattery, and moreover, I’d already pegged him as a difficult modeling partner. I would have to work overtime to keep him happy, and to make our poses look good. On the upside, I’d have no trouble at all looking attractive next to him.
    I winked at RJ and said, smoothly, “Sure, Onyx. I like being a whore.”
    I got a frisson of excitement just saying the words out loud.
    I steadied him over me. His nearly erect cock slapped my stomach, and his balls rested against my panty-covered mound. He released my breasts, and wrapped his arms around my torso, bringing his face to my chest.
    He gnawed at my tits, mumbling, “Whore, whore, whore...”
    I sent a “good grief!” look to RJ, who was no help. He fiddled with his camera, changing settings.
    “Those are great expressions, Rebecca! It’s like you’re loathing this and not loving it. Try to keep it going. Archibald, leave some space over her body, will you?”
    To tell the truth, this was one of those rare occasions where I wasn’t completely enjoying the attention—I mean, immersed in the work. Not that it should matter to a model, but Archibald wasn’t my type, and I’m not exactly picky. I have a lot of types. I think his personality turned me off the most.
    His over-enthusiastic mouth worked its way up my chest and neck, leaving a trail of glinting saliva. Not photogenic. I stopped the lick-fest the only way I could. Grabbing him by the ears, I moved him to my mouth, where he immediately fastened on my lips.
    “Move your hands!” RJ snapped, “you’re blocking his face.”
    I let go, and Archibald managed to stay on my mouth. He rocked from side to side, his drunk eyes unfocused and even pointing in different directions.
    I had to crane my neck to keep my mouth under his, otherwise he would have slid off and face-planted in the pillow beside my head. I followed his mouth around, trying to look receptive, submissive, desirable, and not repulsed. Archibald reamed my mouth. He chewed my lips, licked my cheeks, and lapped at my tongue. Before long, the lower half of my face was slick and shiny.
    You’re a good whore, Bad Rebecca whispered in my ear. Another spark of excitement rilled across my nerves. It was a brief, fugitive thought, completely unprofessional, but it kept me in the game so I could focus on being the best whore I could be. I mean model.
    *Click* *Click*
    Suddenly, I had pressure against my panties, again. Archibald’s lower torso surged between my legs, sending waves of heat from my pussy through my stomach.
    “Man, this is surreal.” Randy was beside us, propped up on his