I hadn’t been ready for this. Sure I’d dreamt about winning the competition when I’d submitted my picture to ‘Today’s Teen’. But every girl dreams about being a model – don’t they? It was an international search, an unmissable opportunity, but I’d been up against proper models, with portfolios and years of experience. I was a nobody; a no-hoper who’d sent an ironic holiday snap from the sea front at Whitby wearing my yellow bikini whilst the wind and rain tore at my exposed skin and whipped my hair into a frenzied explosion. Perhaps it had been the reality – the sheer fun of the shot - which had attracted the judges’ attention. Whatever it was about that snap, it had already changed my life forever, propelling me into the world of the rich and famous and had whisked me away onto the banks of the Seine in Paris for a shoot with the controversial photographer Tom Walsh.
Tom Walsh was a name. A brand. He’d shot some of the most iconic pictures of the 21 st Century. He’d made careers – and ended them. His hard-edged urban scenes were a master-class in modern art. He was known for pushing boundaries, for blending genres in new and exciting ways. I was just an 18-year old minion from a little village in Yorkshire, England. Nobody knew my name, or anything about me.
“Come-on people; time is money. We haven’t got all day – and we’re going to lose the light any minute now.” There was a response from the crew working the set. Light rigs were positioned, casting their eerie glow over the whole area. Tom turned on me, his body jittery with barely contained energies, “Time to do your stuff, Princess.” A girl applied a last layer of powder on my cheeks as the silk dressing gown was swept off to reveal the 2000 dollar Pilotto dress hanging off my shoulders. It had been designed to fit me like a second skin, especially for this shoot… and it had looked beautiful right up until the moment Tom had decided that he wanted ‘edgier’ and had ripped the seam across my right shoulder. The front now hung down, fully exposing my right breast.
That had been yesterday. Yesterday - the failure. Tom hadn’t been happy with me or the resultant shoot. I’d failed. We’d all failed. So here we were again. Same place, same time, different day. Only today was going to be very different. And it was entirely my fault. I’d slipped in the shower and banged my face on the shower head. There had been pain; there had been swearing but most of all there had been blood. I’m such a klutz but turning-up to the life-changing photo-shoot with a badly-spilt puffy lip had received an unexpectedly positive reaction from Tom.
“Magnificent, magnificent!” Tom cried, as he grabbed my chin and critically examined my damaged face from all angles. “This is wonderful, wonderful. Serge – where is Serge?” A short Italian scampered into view before standing to attention with a comically inflated chest. “Serge – I want you to chop into this.” Tom was running his fingers through my precious hair – my prised strawberry-blonde locks. “I’m looking for a strong, confident – tomboy.”
“Of course, boss.” I wasn’t consulted. I was a mannequin, nothing more. It was my hair but it was theirs to do with as they chose – that much was clear. I’d gasped inwardly with every cut of the scissors. But without a mirror, I had no idea what I looked like. The only clue as to how radical the change was going to be was the growing pile of soft curls gathering at my feet. Finally it was over. Already feeling traumatised, I grabbed a mirror and found a bald stranger looking back at me. She was pretty but unfamiliar – I didn’t recognise myself! Suddenly, I was filled with regret. What had I let them do to me? I was shocked at the change in my appearance. It wasn’t just that my hair was missing; my whole face seemed to have changed. Without my soft blonde curls, I didn’t even look girly. My facial bones seemed sharp and angular: I looked boyish – exactly as Tom had specified.
But that violation was simply the first of many – shocking in itself but not nearly as shocking as what I was expected to depict in the photo-shoot. I was going to be having sex.
“I’ll be having sex – on the set?” I asked the shoot’s assistant incredulously.
“Yes, but you’ll be on top – it’ll be very empowering.”
I was aghast. “On top?” I asked. “On top of what?”
“Not ‘what’ – who; you’ll be on top of Duke.”
“Who or what is a ‘Duke’?”
“You’ve never heard of ‘The’ Duke?” I shook my head. “Well you’re in for a treat – he’s only the biggest porn star in France!” My stomach lurched as I put together the phrases ‘be on top’ and ‘biggest porn star’.”
“And just what exactly am I expected to do with this… porn star?”
“Well, Mr Walsh is kind of keeping the exact details to himself but I’m sure it’ll be very special.” Mr Walsh was highly animated when he came to share his vision with me. My brain turned to mush the instant I saw him. I loved this guy – worshipped him; had done for years. And here he was to explain how he was going to make my photo-shoot work. Before he had chance to say a word, my anger over-rode every other feeling and I snarled at him.
“There’s no way you’re getting me to have sex in front of the camera – what kind of sick pervert are you?” I saw his anger flare, just for a moment. Had this been an ordinary shoot, had I been an ordinary model, I would have been gone, right there, right then. He seemed to recover some of his composure as he started to share his vision with me. “It’s a convergence of high fashion and hard-core pornography – two worlds that appear to be at opposite ends of the spectrum, yet are essentially the same. Whole industries which exploit men and women, demean them, use them, before spitting them out and moving on to the next big thing – of course only one of them is dedicated to making mucky movies.” Tom finished the last with a gruff laugh, a chortle which resonated inside him but never escaped. “It’ll be monumental – ground breaking,” he said, with a smile. “Oh, and it’ll turn you into the most controversial woman on the planet. You’ll be setup for life. You’ll be so famous that brands will be breaking down the walls of your house to get you to endorse them. Women will be outraged, yet secretly admire you. Men will lust after you – even more than they already do.” I nodded, accepting the compliment. “If you get yourself a decent agent, you’ll be able to play both sides of the wholesome whore. I’ll make you the most famous woman on the planet.”
This is the stuff of fantasy. It couldn’t be real – but then again, all these girls, these supermodels had started somewhere and Tom Walsh had launched many a career into the stratosphere. “So what do I have to do?” I asked.
“You let me take some photos whilst wearing an expensive dress… as a guy sticks his dick in your ass.” It was as open and honest as I could have hoped for.
“He’s not really going to stick it in my ass, is he? I mean it’ll be simulated…” Tom shook his head slowly.
“It’s not going to be simulated,” I said, mostly as a confirmation to myself. The muscles of my virgin ass tightened. But at the same time, there was a flood of excited horror. If there was even the smallest chance of Tom’s prophesy coming true, then I had to go through with the photo-shoot. How could I not?
I’d already made my decision. I wasn’t entirely – or even partly - happy with what I was about to do… but the potential rewards outweighed anything and everything else. In reality, it was already too late to back-out. “OK,” I said simply and allowed myself to be escorted to my rooms.
A surly French woman prepared me for the shoot in the most agonising and embarrassing way possible – although she seemed to be utterly unmoved as she waxed my entire pubic area before giving me a series of enemas.
I’d never had an enema before and found the experience utterly humiliating. The French woman donned a pair of gloves before forcing two lubricated fingers into my virgin bum. I yelped - there had been no warning and she showed no interest in my response. If anything, her fingers delved even deeper inside me as I squirmed. I didn’t think it was necessary but didn’t dare to question her methods. Neither of us seemed to be enjoying the experience. She just stuck them in and moved them around with all the ceremony of putting a stamp on an envelope. After an undignified wait she inserted the tube of the enema into my ass and raised the bag high into the air. I became aware of an uncomfortable weight in my bowel and I had to strain to hold it within my cavity.
“Oh shit!!” I screamed as I felt something giving way and I scampered to the loo, making it just as the seal on my ass breached. The relief was tremendous, like the aftershock of a powerful orgasm.
“Aren’t you the dirty girl?” The French woman cooed, inspecting the contents of the toilet bowl. “Again.” I had the indignity of presenting my bottom-hole to her for a second time and received another enema… and another.
“Oh fuck!!” I groaned, as my aching ass hovered over the toilet.
“Is good,” Frenchy said, retreating from view. I felt like I’d been sandblasted. I supposed it made sense; if they wanted to stick a cock in my ass, they’d have to clean me out to make room for it. Frenchy returned with an amused look on her face. She handed me two items. One was a tube of ointment; the other looked like a draught excluder. “Preparation,” she said, somewhat mysteriously.
I looked again as she disappeared. The brown thing was soft and long and almost… my stomach lurched as I realised what it was. It had ‘The Duke’ embossed on the base. It was a jelly dildo – almost certainly a mould of the real appendage. A mould of my own forearm would have been less threatening. It wasn’t just big – it was gargantuan. And I’d agreed to take it in my ass.
There was no way that I’d be able to fit that thing in my ass. The girth alone was… unthinkable. However, it would be more sensible to find that out with the toy in the relative privacy of my room than out on set with the real thing. The tube turned-out to lubricant and I quickly flicked the cap open and squeezed a fat slug of the clear gel onto my fingers and rubbed it over my arsehole. It was like being in the shower for a moment but I wasn’t trying to get clean, I was trying to get dirtier than I’d ever thought possible. For the first time in my life I pressed my fingers into my ass, officially turning my anal exit into a two-way street.
It was tight back there; much tighter than my pussy. I could feel my heartbeat throbbing around my fingers as I embedded them in my ass. “Oh fuck!!” I gasped, looking down at the girth of the toy. There was simply no way that thing was going to fit back there. I was going to fail. But I couldn’t fail. I simply couldn’t. To fail would be the end of all this before it even began. Word would spread, even if Tom tried to protect me.
With renewed determination, I extracted my fingers, applied more lube and forced them back in, adding a third finger into the anal mix. “Ouch, ouch, ouch,” I thought to myself. But they were all in there. Three fingers buried in my ass… and quite deeply too. It definitely wasn’t as tight as it had been just a few short seconds ago. If it could learn to stretch to accommodate three fingers so quickly, perhaps there was a chance that I could teach it to take the biggest cock I’d ever seen.
“Good, good,” Frenchy said, as she slipped back into the changing area. “Keep it up, my dear – you’re almost there.” The fact that I didn’t stop what I was doing as Frenchy bobbed her head down to inspect my straining asshole revealed my determination rather than an increase in my comfort levels - and I think that grit shone through.
“I can help you prepare, if you’d like.” I gasped with the effort. “It’d be easier if you got on your hands and knees,” she said, softly. I felt her hand apply pressure on the small of my back and I let her guide me down. “That’s it, spread the legs and take them forward – good – now arch the back. Push your derrière in the air.” There was a chortle from behind me which accompanied the snap of the lubricant being flicked open. My rump was jutting up into the air with my cheeks splayed: obscenely open for whatever it was that Frenchy had planned.
I was distracted as my lip started throbbing with the increased pressure of kneeling face-down. I could feel the blood pooling, unable to escape my fat lip. Numbing cold suddenly spread across my abused asshole. Sharp pressure and penetration quickly followed. It felt odd as one and then two fingers slid inside my ass with absolutely no resistance at all. A third was added and I felt the pressure build. I could hear my ass sucking on Frenchy’s fingers as she moved them in and out, finger-fucking me. It felt nice, arousing even. Then she touched me… elsewhere. Her thumb pressed between the folds of my pussy and rubbed. There was an explosion of pleasure as the base of her thumb rubbed my clitoris. I gasped in shock – although my body was delighted.
“This’ll make it easier,” she said, by way of explanation and I felt the pressure ratchet up in my ass. The penetration seemed impossibly deep and there were now opposing pressure points sawing in and out. I realised what the sensations meant - Frenchy had got all four fingers into my ass – it was the sides of her hands which I could feel passing through my asshole, rather than fingers. If she could just add her thumb… my God, if I could take Frenchy’s fist in my ass, I was willing to bet that I’d be able take a cock of any description. The pressure in my ass flared into a sharp, intense pain which made me yell. But it passed in an instant leaving me feeling weirdly full.
“It’s in,” Frenchy said, a note of triumph in her voice. I wished that I could see what she was seeing. I imagined her wrist extending from between my buttocks – meaning her entire hand was buried inside my bowel. I wanted her to make me cum with her hand inside me. I wanted to know what it would feel like. The motion of both hands stopped and I became aware of another presence. There was someone else in my changing room and a low whistle sounded. It spoke of approval.
“Is this a bad moment?” A heavily accented voice asked.
“Fuck off, Duke,” Frenchy spat. “You can have your fun later.” The implication being that she was having her fun now. I had thought she hated me – or was at least indifferent to me. Perhaps she actually… liked me. As in ‘lesbian’ like. There was a growing realisation that having her hand up my bum wasn’t entirely for my benefit. I gasped as the thumb in my pussy moved over my clitoris. There was a casual expertise in the way it was done – it sometimes took me three or four attempts to place my own fingers on my clit as accurately when I wanted to bring myself off. “Shit – that’s what’s going to happen now,” I thought. “She’s going to bring me off.” I felt simultaneous movement of both hands. The pulsing pressure in my ass increased as the hand pulled back and my ringpiece clung to Frenchy’s wrist. For a second I feared that she was going to extract her hand, forcing my anal ring to stretch obscenely once again, but the movement stopped short and her hand pushed back deeper into my ass. The sensation was more intense than anything I’d ever felt before. Then she did it again. And it felt even better. My body was bathed in sweet relief; having her hand, her arm - fuck my ass was weird and uncomfortable… but I was enjoying it. I would never have imagined that I could enjoy such a thing.
The thumb on my clit moved with renewed intensity. It had been keeping me at a constant state of arousal, although the effect was like a trickle-charge, building sexual energy into my every reserve in preparation for the biggest orgasmic release I’d ever experienced. It was at that moment, as I prepared for climatic release that I was introduced to ‘The Duke’. Enormous black shins stepped into my field of vision, which collapsed down to two tree trunks between which hung the biggest cock I’d ever seen: ‘The Duke’.
It was a monstrous protuberance and I watched in awe as a hand picked it up and guided it to my mouth.
It was like being assaulted with a black rolling pin. The moment that my mouth started to open, I felt a sharp pain as my busted-lip gave way. A wave of giddiness washed over me as pain from my lip combined with the aching in my ass and together fought the waves of pleasure surging from my clit. I closed my eyes as I steadied myself. To my surprise, something hot bumped into the back of my mouth. My eyes flew open, only to find the view blocked by a wall of black muscle. By crossing my eyes slightly, I could see several inches of ebony flesh protruding from my mouth. I had a porn star’s cock in my mouth!
I swallowed and immediately regretted it as my action dragged the cock even deeper – the tip was in my throat now. “Jeez baby, that feels good!” It was at that moment my body erupted into a confusion of agonised ecstasy. I couldn’t breathe properly with the head of Duke’s cock chafing the back of my throat, yet my pussy felt like it was liquefying. Confused nerves reported that it was my pussy being deliciously stretched even though I knew my twitching arsehole was the source of my ‘fullness’. Every single muscle tightened spasmodically and the following waves of ecstasy were the most intense I’d ever experienced.
Just as the pleasure began to ebb away, Frenchy pulled her hand back through my arsehole and drove it in again. Yes it was painful… but my God it felt good. My body woke-up to the fact that was it was being anally violated and the orgasm intensified again, refocused and fired anew. Again and again she dragged her hand out before forcing it back in, fist-fucking my arse in the most shocking sexual experience of my life. My body twisted as the first orgasm re-ignited and rolled into a second and then another. I kept expecting it to stop – but it didn’t. Like ripples on a pond, the pleasure waves came again and again, bouncing between my ass and pussy. They crushed me to the point where I thought the ecstasy might actually be damaging my body.
I needed to breathe and used a hand to extract Duke’s pride and joy. His straight, black rod had a tide-mark from where I’d taken it. I was shocked – and a little bit proud as to how far I had gone. It must have been down my throat – my mouth wasn’t that deep. No wonder I’d had trouble breathing.
My senses returned to normal as I took proper breaths. I liked the feel of the cock in my hand; the heat of it – and the weight but especially the fact that I couldn’t close my fingers around it. The head was dark purple and I couldn’t help but stroke it. I suddenly felt very pleased with myself – I was being anally fisted and teased towards another fiery orgasm by a French lesbian, yet I was still able to give a half-decent hand job to the biggest porn star in France.
“You wanna taste my cum?” Duke’s voice rumbled from above.
“Yeah, I mean ‘yes’, I’d like that.” I watched as he took over the stroking of his cock. He did it slower than I’d been doing it, but twisted his thumb and fingers over the glans, perhaps increasing the stimulation. He was a porn star; those guys could cum on demand couldn’t they? And they fired enormous loads. Duke gasped and aimed his cock. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen now.
It was like an explosion at a dairy. The first spurt lasted for about three seconds; it looked like what would happen if you accidentally stood on a squeezy bottle of mayonnaise. And the whole lot jetted deep into my open mouth. Another automatic swallow cleared my airway. There was a pause and then Duke’s hose fired again. It was almost as though he had waited for me to open my mouth - although I couldn’t imagine how that might be possible – before firing in a double salvo. He half-filled my mouth and I swallowed deliberately this time, savouring the feel of the copious juices sliding down my throat. But I was too slow and the next jet of milky ejaculate splashed off my busted lip.
“Jesus Duke, watch what you’re doing, I haven’t got time to do her hair again.” Frenchy said, extracting her hand – but this time it didn’t push back in. Her hand had gone. Frenchy had released me and my post-orgasmic ass pulsed with relief. A shiver passed through me as cold air was sucked deep inside my bowel. I realised that my ass was yawning open and as my muscles contracted and released, my ass was breathing. I giggled as it happened again. I’d seen that kind of thing happening to the dirty girls in pornos – but I’d never imagined it happening to me, on the streets of Paris, or imagined what it’d actually feel like. It was exciting to know that there was a black circle surrounded by the tortured pinkness of an abused asshole winking between my buttocks.
I was just thinking about examining my ass in a mirror when a shout from outside made me jump. “Come-on, it’s time,” Frenchy said, taking my hand and guiding the way. There were bright lights and an audience – all looking at me. Duke wandered past without a care in the world - with his trousers open, his cock swaying from side-to-side. He slumped down onto the sidewalk and angled that monstrous black dong towards me. There were murmurs in the crowd – doubters expressing themselves. I had sympathy with them. His cock looked simply enormous – but thanks to Frenchy’s efforts, I was actually confident that I could take it.
“If you please,” Tom said, inviting me to take my position. There was no dignified way of doing this, so I tottered over to stand astride Duke’s cock and squatted down. I could see the wall of faces moving from side to side, straining to get a clear view. Even I needed to see what I was doing and so crumpled the dress to my stomach as strong, experienced hands gripped my waist, giving me balance and support.
“Thanks, Duke,” I muttered.
“No problem, little lady,” he said softly. Since both of his hands were in use, it meant I was going to have to steer. I gripped his hot cock and pulled it upright. The tip dragged along my left buttock but I managed to get it strategically placed mid-butt as Duke lowered my body. The blunt tip threatened to spear directly into my well-lubricated and pre-stretched asshole. I knew that I could do it, so shut my eyes and concentrated on every sensation emanating from my ass. I wriggled a little and settled down slightly. My weight was coming to bear on the… I decided that I could use that weight to break the gentle resistance. Tentatively, I shifted the weight on my thighs backwards. I could feel it transferring from my legs to my bum, adding more and more pressure to the anal penetration. The invasion was starting – Duke’s cockhead was already inside my anal aperture. One brave movement was all that was needed. I was brave. I made a determined downward thrust and it was in me. As the downward motion continued, I impaled myself deeply in one single movement. There was a reaction from the crew – they hadn’t thought I’d be able to do it – now that I had there was a buzz as people moved to their places.
“Excellent – we can start!” And the world exploded with the lightning bursts of Tom’s co-ordinated umbrella flashes.
“Well, at least that’s the worst part over,” I thought to myself. I’d just anally impaled myself in front of a group of gawping strangers. At which point, it began to rain – a thin, bone-chilling rain that continued for the entire duration of the shoot. I couldn’t help but imagine the rain as the tears of watching deities, weeping over my lost innocence.
“I need more,” Tom cried. “Give me something I can work with!” I couldn’t stand him shouting at me, demanding me to do things of which I had no idea. I wasn’t a model; I was a check-out girl from Whitby. “I need you to shock me.” As if having an enormous black cock parked in my bottom wasn’t shocking enough. As if pulling my ripped $2000 designer dress aside to show my denuded pussy wasn’t enough. This man was a perfectionist. He wasn’t happy with what he had created so far and he was being driven to find that perfection – that perfectly shocking shot. The ‘something’ which gave that shot an edge which no other shot had ever had before. It was that which set him above the rest of the world’s photographers – that drive to achieve the impossible.
Then I thought about what would be truly shocking: something private, intimate; something which should not be shared with the streets of Paris, with the dozens of people staring at me intently. A knot of excitement built. If Tom wanted me to shock him, the one thing that I did need to do right now was relieve the tension in my bladder. Controversial; he loved controversial. I slipped my fingers down between my open legs and prised my pussy apart. I was now just like the centrefold of a hard-core porn mag, with a black cock buried in my arse and my pussy held open for the world to gawp at. The cameras burst into action once again. Then I did something that isn’t so common – even amongst the hardest of hard-core, it being more of a niche market. I pressed down on my bladder and fired a golden arch of piss into the rain.
“Yes, yes – beautiful!” Tom enthused and there was an eruption of flashing light as he held the button down on the camera and the shutter flickered a dozen times. “STOP!!” he yelled. “Props!” The trail of piss retreated up towards me, like a puppy on a retractable lead. The hot liquid traced across the black scrotum nestling between my splayed thighs and as it did, the warmth seemed to transfer directly through Duke’s cock into my bowel. Duke groaned and as his body shuddered, it felt like I’d entered an earthquake zone. He was cumming again - the most famous French porn star was flooding my back-passage with his jizz. I’d made him cum by pissing on his ball-sack. Looking down, I could actually see his testicles jumping as he pumped his seed into my arse.
“Arrgh, fuck!!” he sighed, happily. “That was beautiful!” His body sagged beneath mine, although no-one else seemed to have noticed – it had been a private moment shared between the two of us. Again, his cock didn’t deflate in the slightest and I began to suspect some kind of chemical assistance: I’d never known a man to shoot his suds twice without a corresponding dip in wood. Still, I was hardly going to complain as my arse throbbed affectionately around the black monster, milking the last of his juices. I was enjoying the sensations - beginning to see the attractions of taking a cock in my arse as opposed to my pussy. I probably wouldn’t be doing this with Duke so publically in future. “Unless I make a proper porno with him,” I thought, excitedly. That was a distinct possibility either way –either as an escape from my desperate, penny-pinching existence back in Whitby – or an ironic statement as a new trans-genre porno-supermodel.
I held my position; held my pussy open – pinning my labia to either side. I watched as the dark pool of my piss meandered across the rough slabs of the pavement, blended with the rainwater and made an anonymous escape from the intense atmosphere of the shoot. I wasn’t embarrassed by what I’d done. For some reason I imagined pissing on the floor of the supermarket in front of my customers. Shockingly, the thought excited me. I realised that my fingers were moving over my clitoris. I was masturbating. The crew were talking quietly amongst themselves whilst watching me, nodding approval. In fact their approval was radiating in warm waves – and materialised in the form of a hot drink. A tea girl, probably only about 16 years old gave me a hot chocolate. Her eyes traced down to between my legs to where my fingers were still moving, inspected the interface of the black cock buried in my arse and then looked further down at the puddle of piss. “Bon,” she said, with a little smile. “Tr è s bon!!”
Props arrived, desperately panting. And the item was placed on the floor, right in the centre of the darker patch of my creation. There was an excited murmur from the crew. An uncoordinated, stuttering round of applause sounded. This was indeed going to be huge. I stared down in disbelief… but was filled with a sense of wonderful excitement. Tom had found his angle. I’d seen the genius work his magic first hand. He’d taken controversial and had made it global. Cutting. Topical.
“Again,” he cried. “You must piss again!” I wondered at the creative inspiration. The speed with which his mind had reacted to the opportunity presented by my arc of urine; to create something so utterly contentious, combining as it did art, high fashion and pornography. The perfect blend. However this photo-shoot was going to be used, it was going to make me infamous. Famous maybe. But certainly infamous. For on the ground in front of me was an Olympic torch. I would forever be the girl who pissed on the eternal flame. Who extinguished the very symbol of that most historic of all sporting events.
“You must do it now,” Tom said.
“I’m trying!” I hissed, desperately. And I was - but it was as though the liquid was scared to leave my body. Or I’d forgotten how to pee. The urgency had gone. It wasn’t going to happen. Perhaps the enormous black cock buried in my bottom was blocking the route. I laughed. There was pain from my lip as it split open again. And at that moment an explosion of light and noise erupted around me. And in the light, arcing away between my legs was a rainbow of multi-coloured diamonds… which landed with perfect accuracy on the flame carrier. I gasped. It was relief, shock, awe all combined. I’d done it! There was a pause of anticipation as Tom thumbed through the images. But they knew. We all knew – even I knew, and I knew nothing.
“Perfectamundo!!” Tom cried, holding the camera above his head like a trophy. A roar erupted and I felt my body sag. I was spent but I was the sudden heroine. Tom came and yanked me up by both hands, ripping the cock from my arse and embraced me. Then other hands came, slapping me, touching me – congratulating me on a job well done. A coat was thrown around my shoulders as Tom showed me the picture.
There I was, my face contorted with wild laughter, blood oozing down my chin from the split lip. I looked like I’d fought for, and won the eternal flame. And having won it, in my moment of triumph, I was using my bodily fluids to extinguish it. As the picture became public, it was wrongly assumed that the torch was faked – it wasn’t. It was claimed that the sparkling arch of piss had been added by a computer in post-production. But the only significant alteration to the stark, savage beauty of the image was the addition of ‘Londres 2012’ which was strategically placed to cover my crotch. Only Duke’s feet were visible in the final set of the picture – much to his disgust - and it did look for all the world that I, a whip of a girl had taken down the enormous hulk of muscle to extinguish his flame.
That poster went national – throughout France and then beyond. It became a European symbol – a way of sticking two fingers up across the Channel at the Brits as they enjoyed their hosting of the Olympic Games. It was a perfect picture at a perfect time: a way of poking fun which captured the imagination of the world. Through the viral power of the internet, it quickly became global and then it hit the mainstream news. Just as Tom had predicted, I became an overnight sensation with offers galore, starting with the ‘check-out-girl-gone-global’ stories. I was dragged onto the catwalk and the red carpet even as my new publicist carefully stored away the unedited pictures from the photo-shoot which could be used when the media frenzy died down.
August 2018
Duke and I became an item and a brand – Entente Cordiale – making Tom Walsh’s prophetic fusion of porn and high fashion a reality with our ‘Passion 4 Fashion’ line where every model on our catwalk had her own ultra-hard-core pornographic portfolio. It worked – people wanted to see these girls fucking and sucking, pissing and all the other wonderful things that people do. We took over the world of fashion – to the point where even existing supermodels were forced to bow down to suck cock and lick clit, open their legs, their pussies and their arseholes. We set the standards. Our perversions became the norm for an entire industry… and Tom Walsh was there to capture every filthy frame.
Duke made me a very happy girl, by giving me a diamond ring and exclusive use of his cock. My ass was the main beneficiary of the new arrangement – it throbbed a little, but was very, very happy at all the attention it got – as was my often-neglected pussy. Frenchy settled down with a model with ‘lovely small hands’ and a nice tight ass. Fortunately, her lesbian lover doesn’t object to our anniversary celebrations: every year Duke insists that we recreate the events which brought us together by making Frenchy fist me anally before he takes me up the ass and makes me pee on his scrotum. Just imagine – all this love and lust from one little holiday snap…
