icon snippet for Billradish

More often than not modelling work was decidedly dull to do. The same faces, same poses, same sets, same cheesy banter, outfits that were much of a much-ness. Worth it only for the sense of power and freedom that the final prints sometimes gave her.

This one, however, was fun.

She hadn't worked with Casper before, and the only shoot she'd done for Pete – Pete Stone, of PS_X – had been pretty much a catalogue deal, with a group of models all rushed through like the bread and butter work it was.

Slowed down and focussed, though, Pete gave glorious direction, and while the film was rolling she could feel that the finished pictures were going to be something else. The mood added a little something to the predatory smile she was wearing.

What wasn’t to like about the muscled blond prostrate at her feet? Her wrists were bound with fine silk cord, the exact same pose, crossed low over her back, where she'd held the crop. With the whip came a gag and with the restraints it was her boot digging delicious dents in Casper's patterned skin. He had held her pinned at her command, and she had crawled and licked his thighs to assert her control.

All the while the photographer's voice kept up a low thread of words that were half story half instruction.

icon snippet for Billradish

More often than not modelling work was decidedly dull to do. The same faces, same poses, same sets, same cheesy banter, outfits that were much of a much-ness. Worth it only for the sense of power and freedom that the final prints sometimes gave her.

This one, however, was fun.

She hadn't worked with Casper before, and the only shoot she'd done for Pete – Pete Stone, of PS_X – had been pretty much a catalogue deal, with a group of models all rushed through like the bread and butter work it was.

Slowed down and focussed, though, Pete gave glorious direction, and while the film was rolling she could feel that the finished pictures were going to be something else. The mood added a little something to the predatory smile she was wearing.

What wasn’t to like about the muscled blond prostrate at her feet? Her wrists were bound with fine silk cord, the exact same pose, crossed low over her back, where she'd held the crop. With the whip came a gag and with the restraints it was her boot digging delicious dents in Casper's patterned skin. He had held her pinned at her command, and she had crawled and licked his thighs to assert her control.

All the while the photographer's voice kept up a low thread of words that were half story half instruction.