The eyes are hypnotic, silver-grey. They look at me from the mirror. Do they ask a question? I turn away from the perfect image. My thoughts are mine alone, not to be shared with this cold, judgemental reflection...

………

Unsurprisingly I slept late the next day. 10 am was late for me. No one stirred in the flat. It had been a wild night. Most of the beds had more than one occupant. Mine didn’t. I had fallen into bed fuelled by vodka and sex and more.

I caught a glimpse of my reflection, oh not the perfect image I was used to seeing, but a wild-haired tramp with smudged makeup and a stained red dress wrapped round her waist. Between my legs was sticky and the smell of sex was overpowering. What the hell had I done?

The Kat I had known for the last two decades was more reserved than her peers, a little shy and really not that adventurous. Demure? I would have definitely used that word. Where had all these insatiable desires and urges come from? One thing was for sure, in the cold light of day and alcohol free, I was determined that it would never happen again.

I peeled the offending red garment off. I guess I owed Carly a replacement. I put on my dressing gown and headed for the bathroom, praying it would be empty. The fates were kind to me. It was. I turned the shower on and found my favourite sea kelp shower gel. Again another reflection, slight bruising to my buttocks and breasts. I rubbed hard in the shower, wincing slightly at the tender parts. If I had hoped to wash away the evidence of last night’s excesses, I was sadly mistaken. Oh yes, the smell of sex and the heavy makeup vanished under the fresh, fragrant bubbles but the faint marks remained.

I turned off the shower with a sigh, towelled myself dry and wrapped my hair in a towel.

Just in time as there was a frantic knocking at the door.

I opened it to a very rough-looking Carly; her makeup from last night looked just as bad as mine had.

With a muttered thanks she dived for the toilet to rid herself of last night’s vodka. I left her to it.

I had just finished drying my hair and applying some much-needed rescue makeup, when my phone pinged. It was Anna.

“Are you free for lunch at 12 at The Smugglers? X"

I checked my watch. There was a bus leaving for the Riverside location in ten minutes. I quickly pulled on a pair of white jeans and an oversized black cashmere sweater.  Not quite the siren from last night! I wouldn’t think of that. The respectable, modest Kat was back.

The bus got me there in time. Anna was already sitting at an outside picnic table in the sunshine. Another picnic table sprang to mind and was promptly dismissed.

She had already ordered a large glass of chilled Pinot Grigio for us both.

After we ordered our food, she looked directly at me and smiled.

“You look remarkably good considering your adventures last night.”

Anna had stayed over at the Penthouse; how did she know?

She scrolled through her phone and selected Carly’s Instagram pic, “Pussy Galore”. Wow! It had a huge number of views.

Then she turned and said, “Kat, have you read your contract?”

I felt foolish and had to admit I hadn’t. I’d been so focused on getting fucked that I forgot.  I didn’t tell her that.

“Oh Kat, you should have read it first. There’s a clause that says no social media or uploading of any pics. You can understand why. Clients pay a fortune for these, you can’t jeopardise that.”

Of course. It made sense and my thoughts had swung that way last night about the brothers.

“Fortunately, you’re not named in the group and your face isn’t really visible. However,  just to be extra careful, the bush will need to go. I’ve booked you in to Glam Girls regular salon. We’ll go after lunch. Then Donna and Mags have another shoot for you.”

Decision time. I know I had signed for initially three shoots. I also had checked my new bank account: £4250. The desire for financial reward won over my morals. So did the rising tingling in my fanny, though I tried to ignore it, unsuccessfully.

I muttered my thanks. But Anna brushed them away.

“That’s what friends are for.”

Later that afternoon, after a thorough session with a very efficient therapist, I found myself once again at the Penthouse... minus the bush. I felt like a plucked chicken, but I had to say the effect was enticing.

Anna hugged me goodbye and headed back to the flat.

Donna started the conversation.

“Last night, we were trying something new. I won’t go into all the details, but it involved live streaming. We have only done stills in the form of a slideshow before, but we have been asked countless times to produce this.

"Eventually, a storyline with more than one person will be introduced, but for now it will be solo. Although we DO have a scenario involving a bit more. It is at the top of the list of client requests. For this one short film, we will pay you 55% or £5000. Whichever is higher. At this point, we are unsure how many clients will be online. Although when we announce the title and your involvement, we expect really high numbers.  There are huge sums to be made. Are you in?”

The tingling that I'd tried to ignore and was convinced was a one-off returned. Big time. My knickers were getting wet… again.

“How soon can I start?”

While I was feeling horny was the best time; my performance would be mind-blowing.

An hour later the scene was set.

I was dressed in a school uniform with my hair plaited and in red ribbons. The picture of every male and probably female, fantasy, the 16-year-old schoolgirl, legal and eager and testing out her sexuality.

The studio had been set as an old-fashioned schoolroom, complete with wooden desks and the traditional teacher’s desk and cane. The music started.

Lights, camera, action!

I stared into the lens and pouted. I knew this was live and that over a hundred had now signed up for “Kat’s classroom dare”.

How many more would eventually be online was unknown.

Slowly, I removed the red blazer and placed it on the chair, then moved sinuously to the music, losing myself in the scene. I imagined myself in front of a classroom of 17-year-old school boys. I ran my hands over my shirt and tie-clad body, my hands lingering on my covered boobs, then I inched up the red tartan mini skirt to give a tantalising view of red, lacy knickers. Turning to face the camera, I slowly hovered over unfastening the buttons of the white school shirt, giving a cheeky glimpse of a red lacy bra.

A few more gyrating moves and the shirt was off. The red and black tie remained. My tits had been squeezed into a tiny shelf bra, which exposed my areolas and nipples. I licked my fingers and began to play with my aroused nipples. All the while, I was imagining 17-year-old boys playing with themselves.

Skilfully, as if I had done this a dozen times before, I unfastened the skirt and let it drop.

The pretty frilly knickers were revealed, crotchless.

Long thigh-length white socks, complete with red ribbons and shiny black pumps, completed the look.

However, I had agreed that this little scenario could go further.

Just as I was roaming my body and fingering my throbbing clit, the door burst open and in stormed the teacher wearing a black cloak and stern expression.

I was ordered to stop and remove my bra. My tits swung free; they felt and looked huge.

I stood completely still while the teacher thoroughly examined them, pulling and rolling my very pronounced nipples.

Mmm… I was enjoying this way too much,  and I knew the camera would focus on my ecstatic expression as well as the hands groping my tits.

I was instructed to bend over and the teacher pulled my knickers down roughly. I knew what was coming next, it was written in the cards. It had happened sooner than I dared but it had fitted the scenario perfectly.

The teacher spread my legs, hands moved up my thighs, untying the ribbons on my socks before plunging into my totally exposed, hairless fanny. It was a new feeling. I was really wet and the experienced fingers knew the way to my pulsing clit. I squealed with pleasure. The clever fingers were removed after a thorough examination. Like last night, I thought there were three, but who was counting, or should that be cunting!

I knew what was coming next and my cunt (fanny is too polite a word, given the situation) got even wetter.  

The teacher went behind the desk and removed the cane.

I had agreed willingly to this. It was a step further than the hands from last night.

Slap!

There was that orgasmic sound again.

It tingled and thrilled equally.

Two more and the shot was complete.

The teacher left the room.

A round of applause. I got dressed, untied the plaits and went through to the studio. I was eager to view the footage. My bum was smarting, but I loved the sensation.

Laura was checking the figures and responses to the film. It was staggering. So much money, so many horny men... and women. My afternoon session had exceeded any other shoot by a long way. I watched the action unfold. Oh, it was hot, really hot. The camera had zoomed in on my facial expressions, the lustful rapture, the moans, the slaps.

I was fascinated at the sight of my vagina without the cover of my bush. Definitely more to see. Next time I'd make sure it was well and truly open for business… Did I say that out loud?

The caning session had been filmed in slow motion. The effect was explicit, erotic and sensual, the red stripes on my rounded buttocks being the final shot.

Mags and Donna were in shock too. They had never done this type of work before but now knew how lucrative it was. The fact that I had agreed to not just a spanking, but a caning, opened up all sorts of possibilities. One thing was for sure: there was demand for Glam Girls' work, not just still pictures.

Would this be classed as pornography? I wasn't sure and I didn’t really care.  

We all shared a glass of wine before they called a taxi to take me home.

I didn’t have long to wait. My sweet taxi driver from last night knew the way.

He also knew the way home!