Anything for Money: A Sex-For-Hire College Romance (6 page)

R
ipper Jack’s
house became my home away from home. I spent so much time over there, you’d think we hadn’t friend-zoned each other half to death. I still had hopes for us, quietly buried hopes, simply from all the attention he lavished on me. I was his constant model for all his projects. He called me “babe” like it meant something. I’d simply die if he ever went out with another girl.

I also just liked his place. It was clean, classy, and full of interesting things, like RJ himself. As the weeks progressed, his framed photos of me slowly edged out the other women on the wall.

Some of my pictures were so risqué that even I blushed when I saw them. I had to constantly explain the concept behind them, because RJ entertained a constant stream of visitors: Tough-looking friends from his pre-college life. Customers for his car-repair side business. Even, increasingly, buyers for his photographs.

Then one day I strode in, exhausted from classes, wanting nothing but a shower and a foot rub—and that fucking RJ had taken roommates!
Oh no he didn’t!
Roommates would put a crimp in all my plans.

“You didn’t even ask me first,” I complained.

“Rebecca, you’re my model. I don’t have to consult with you how I pay my rent.”

“You don’t, I guess,” I grudged, “but it would have been nice. You know how I walk around at your place.”

“I certainly do. But being surrounded by strangers never stopped you before. The looks I get, after you walk through the room! My friends from the hood thought you were a whore.”

“A whore!” I smirked. “That’s sweet of them.”

“Not if you think about it objectively.”

“I mean, it’s flattering. They’re saying men would pay me money for sex.”

“Yes, that’s the definition of a whore.”

“Do your friends want to buy me?”

“Shit, Rebecca!” RJ rolled his eyes, but I could see he was turned on. Since we started working together, I had slowly pieced him together from hints and clues. If only I were paying this much attention in my classes! It was one reason I was at his place all the time. He was like a video game, and I could only unlock his secrets through hours of gameplay.

“Look, babe,” he said, “college is expensive, and I’m not picking up mechanic work because all my time goes to classes. It’s either roommates, or I sell your ass on the streets.”

I laughed too loudly, shook my head, but then shrugged. Maybe that discovery thing worked two ways. Now, whenever I talked about being a whore, he talked it right back, like we were goading each other.

I shifted the conversation out of the gutter. “So you have roommates now. Fine. Nothing I can do about it. So what does that mean? Can I hang out naked only in your room now?” I cringed at how that sounded, and then I cringed again at his unwholesome grin.

“As platonic female friends go, you’re the best I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, I’m a great ‘buddy,’” I said sourly.

“Come meet them, Rebecca.” He grabbed my hand. “You’ll see they’re not so bad.”

“Should I wear this?” I checked myself in his closet mirror. It was a silk romper, cut a bit short over the ass in back, with spaghetti straps and triangles over my breasts. Another of my creations, for which I got an A in my design class.

RJ barely glanced at me. “Lose the bra,” he advised. “I told you before, you don’t need bras.”

“The bra is part of the look, silly. It’s supposed to be visible.” Nonetheless, I snapped out of it and dropped it on his bed, where he’d have to interact with it later. Dizzying cleavage in the mirror, now. In terms of modesty, I couldn’t bend from the waist without showing my ass in back, or my entire torso in front.

“Great, just great,” I groaned. “Now I can’t bow.”

“Funny girl.” RJ grabbed my hand and led me out to meet his roommates.

There wasn’t much to say to Ameet. He shook my hand shyly and wouldn’t meet my eyes, though I had to work to get my hand back.

Randy was a different story. He was a blonde, ruggedly cute surfer dude who was going through a pile of 6x4 prints from one of my modeling sessions. In the days to come, I’d learn that he was a slob, he would steal my food (meaning RJ’s) from the refrigerator, and he always had his friends over. Still, I liked him because of that first meeting. When he looked up from the prints, he did a double-take, and then jumped off the chair and gave me the most comprehensive, exploratory embrace I’d ever received. When he learned that RJ and I weren’t together, and that I was freeloading just like him, those hugs became a daily, sometimes hourly thing.

The roommates seemed like nice guys, in that I dazzled one and tongue-tied the other. Still, I had a sense of foreboding about the whole deal—foreboding that was magnified when I constantly caught myself bending over in front of them that first evening. They introduced complexity. They made me self-conscious right when I had started to glory in being unselfconscious. I’d probably make a mistake with one or both of them, and destroy whatever delicate potential I had with RJ.

Sure enough, not three weeks passed before I put everything at risk.

O
ne Saturday morning
, I woke sweaty and uncomfortable. My pinging headache could be explained by a long night of wild drinking. The mysterious knee under my back, and the hairy thigh across my hips… these were harder to understand.

I cracked my eyes and let the painful sunlight in. I recognized the room. I was in RJ’s house, but not his bedroom, alas.

Based on the sloppy decor, I was in Randy’s room.

Oh, crap.

I turned my head back and forth. RJ dozed on my right side. On the other side was Randy.

There was a third guy in the bed, and I had no idea who he was. I desperately wanted to recognize him, because he and I were lying crotch to crotch, and his leg was across my hips, and he was naked.

Then I realized I was looking down at this stranger over my own bare breasts. At least I was still wearing panties. I flopped back, groaning.

What the hell had I been up to?

“I wish I had a picture of you right now,” RJ whispered.

I shot him a “be quiet” look, but before I could warn him against waking up the guys, Randy rolled onto me and nestled his face in my chest. He had me pinned, and I dared not move.

RJ snickered, shaking the bed.

“Where’s my dress?” I hissed.

“You abandoned it last night. Don’t you remember ‘paying’ for our cab ride home?”

I was torn between asking about the cab ride, and keeping quiet for fear of waking our bedmates.

Randy mumbled something in his sleep, and my hyper-sensitive left breast felt his lips move on my skin. Then a thread of drool escaped his lips, landed on me, and slid down the curve to my armpit.

I started to say something, but Randy moved again. I went stiff as his hand slid across my stomach with a sleepy caress. His sleepy lips tracked down my breast toward my nipple.

RJ raised an eyebrow, his smile growing as he watched my conflict. Randy’s lips closed over my nipple, which, naturally, was excited about the attention. After a few sleepy sucks, Randy dozed off again.

I tried to prioritize my situation. “Who is this guy between my legs?”

RJ shrugged. “Last night at the bar, you started talking about how you’d ‘Pay my rent’ for me. You grabbed him off the sidewalk while we were waiting for a cab. He was almost as drunk as you were. You brought him back to the house.”

“I
what?”
I hissed.

“It’s okay. I know him. He’s the quiet, scary guy from photography class.”

“Well, I don’t know him.”

RJ patted my cheek. “Don’t worry, nothing happened. Sort of. He did try to pay you, and you did take off his clothes. You said you would get him off—but you kept talking! Talk, talk, talk!”

“What did I say?”

“You thought $20 was too much money, but you couldn’t make change. Eventually, you both passed out.”

I covered my face with my hands. “Why did you let me drink so much?”

“Hey, you’re a grown-up,” RJ said. “Don’t put this on me.”

He was right, but I had to vent my embarrassment. “You were going to let me blow him for $10!”

RJ’s eyebrows shot up. “You do remember! You wanted to ‘sell your mouth’ and ‘drink cum,’ but at a ‘reasonable price.’ You said you wanted to pay my rent for me.”

“That’s a lie!”

“If you don’t remember last night, then how come you knew you offered a blow-job for $10?”

Randy stirred, and clamped his mouth on my nipple again. His damp lips and tongue forced my attention to my chest. It was hard to find a response for RJ. I’d always had a little thing for Randy, and here he was, all asleep, with cute morning-face. And sucking on me.

“Answer me, babe,” RJ pressed.

“It’s my thing,” I confessed.
Oh, how horrible.
Why did I drink so much last night? I always get into trouble when I drink, it’s fucking humiliating. It was freshman year all over again. Bad Rebecca came out the minute Good Rebecca got too drunk to function. I must be more repressed than a North Korean transvestite.

“It’s your
thing?”

Though I was almost naked, and spread out in bed with his roommate and a stranger, I felt a weird, sudden intimacy with RJ. Of course it helped that RJ was grinning down at me, interested and listenable. He had that olive complexion, a stubbly cleft chin, and a very, very wicked smile.

Putting Randy’s nursing mouth out of my mind, I whispered, “It’s just a fantasy. When I drink too much I talk it out. I never do anything.”
That I can remember,
I added to myself. “That’s why I almost never drink anymore.”
Except on weekends.

His finger brushed my lips, and so help me, I shivered. “You’re amazing, Rebecca. Underneath your ambitious personality, and then underneath your insecurities and raging daddy-complex, you’re a hot, steaming sex goddess!”

“Don’t tease!” I warned, but I couldn’t sound very threatening with his roommate clamped to my breast.

RJ was just getting started. “How lucky am I? My best friend is a secret turbo-slut with an easy on-switch. I happen to know a young, gorgeous fashion model who wants to pay all my debts with her mouth! Just put ten dollars in her hand and she’ll talk you to death about how she will give you a blowjob!”

“Shut up!” I tried to hide my grin. “So I’m gorgeous?”

RJ’s finger ran across my lips, and I looked up at him sidewise. He was still smiling, but there was an intense look in his eyes. His finger traced over my lips, and then pressed in. Slowly, I let him into my mouth, my eyes on his. I held his finger on my tongue, my lips around his knuckle.

Well this is new.

Is this something that platonic, friend-zoned friends do together? The moment I held RJ’s finger in my mouth, I knew he would be mine. Not now, but soon. Hopefully.

Maybe it was my general exposure in Randy’s bedroom, or maybe it was because I’d finally told him my most secret fantasy. Whatever it was, I felt like I had nothing I had to hide.

He crooned, “You’d suck dick and give me the money? You’d mouth fuck these guys here to pay my tuition?”

I held his gaze and nodded. In those permissive, intimate seconds just after waking up, I wanted him to know that I would. I really, really might.

“You’ll start today, right? You’ll put the money in my hand?” His voice was throaty, thick with excitement. I nodded again.

He shifted his weight, and for a blindingly exciting moment, I thought he was leaning over to kiss me. But RJ didn’t kiss me. He got out of bed.

“Don’t move.” He quietly left the room.

I knew why. I was disappointed and excited at the same time. Disappointed, because no kiss. Excited, because RJ wanted me to perform for him.

I took inventory of my body. Randy was snoring again, face on my breast. The nameless stranger was a dead weight at my crotch, between my spread legs.

I was pinned in the pile of heavy masculine limbs. Helpless in a good way.

Randy’s hand shifted over my stomach. Guys seem to know, even when they’re sleeping, when their hands are on a girl. His damp palm orbited down to my hips and came to rest on my panties, right on the mound of my sex.

I kept quiet and still, to keep from rousing him. I tried to relax into his hand, so he wouldn’t feel me twitching with tension. Inside, though, I was screaming.

Randy’s fingers fit over my mound perfectly, like a plumber’s seal. I turned hot under the weight of his palm. In his sleep, his fingers flexed and dug.

I glanced down, and saw the unknown guy’s flaccid prick lying across my inner thigh. I wasn’t sure how I felt about that.

“Hey, Rebecca,” Randy murmured.

I went tense.

This is it,
I thought. Randy and I were about to enter that transcendently awkward interval of time where he would wonder aloud what I was doing in his bed with him and a stranger. But no—he was groggy, one eye gummed shut, barely able to enunciate.

I acted casual. “Heyyy, Randyy.”

He lifted his face. “You’re in my bed.”

“We’re all in your bed. I don’t want to get up yet. Just go back to sleep.”

A cow-like expression crossed his face. He was trying to think, unfortunately. “I may never get another chance at you...”

“Shhh,” I soothed. I pulled his head back down to my chest. “You’ll have lots of chances at me.”

I stroked his hair, quieting him, and he nursed on my nipple until he dozed off again.

RJ returned and positioned his camera on the desk across from the bed. He checked the viewfinder, centering the lens on the bed.

“Ameet is already up, studying,” he told me.

“Ameet is super responsible.”

RJ grinned. “He’s one guy, at least, who is not in this bed with you.”

“You know,” I whispered back, barely audible, “I thought you were getting me something to wear.”

His grin said it all: Why would I get you clothes, when I can get pictures of you in this predicament? Sure, RJ can be thoughtful, but when he’s working, watch out. I knew exactly what to expect when he had a picture to take. He’s a photographer to the bone.

He sat on the floor, with his back against the desk and the trigger in his hand. He looked at me expectantly. We had an established process by this point, and RJ liked me to run random poses before he gave instructions. For me to do my part, I had to find my light source, and figure out the purpose of the pictures.

The light was full on me, coming in through the open, uncurtained window above Randy’s desk. Twelve feet away from the window was the window of the next house over, and it opened onto a living room. If Randy wanted, and he usually did, he could chat with the tenants of the next house while they played video games. They were college guys sharing a house, just like RJ and his roommates.

As for the purpose of RJ’s pictures, well, that was easy. He wanted to capture the groggy, sordid atmosphere of the morning.

*Click*

I tried to be a good model. RJ would want good poses and good exposure, along with his good light. I curled my hand around Randy’s head and stroked his hair. I turned my face away from the handsome blond with an abashed look.

*Click*

I pulled Randy’s head closer, and soon he stirred enough to take my nipple back in his mouth. That nipple was getting a workout this morning! It was stiff, and sparkling with sensation.

Sure, I felt guilty about objectifying Randy, using his mouth as nothing but a prop for my poses. I was also feeling other things, though. His sucking was the only sound in the bedroom, that and the camera shutter, another turn-on for me. I tried to get past the fact that no matter how I explained it in professional modeling terms, Randy was munching down on a very delicate part of my body.

I went with it. I wanted these pictures to be good. It’s part of my modeling work ethic, which I’m constantly exploring with RJ’s guidance. Each session has to be better than the last. So I turned to the camera lens and beseeched it with my eyes. I cupped my breast for the viewfinder. The camera kept clicking.

I had done all I could do with poor Randy’s mouth, and I didn’t want RJ to have to give me instructions. I wanted that part be
my
job, as a full creative partner

I had a good idea for the next step, so I went to it. I shifted my hand to my stomach, and ran it down between my hips.

Randy was only half asleep, and his palm cupped my mound over my panties. His palm rested on my clit, and his fingers worked the soft spot at my opening.

I timed it for when his hand flexed open. I pulled the front of my panties down. I stretched the panties away from my sex, and stared at the ceiling—I didn’t trust my eyes for this.

*Click*

Randy’s hand slipped off the fabric and landed directly on my pussy. Now I could feel how wet I was, as his fingers slid over my nether lips, then sank in. I felt every detail of his hand, how his weightlifter’s calluses scraped, how the wrinkles and prints of his fingers felt electric on the softest part of me.

I let the panties snap back over his wrist, and and ran through the poses again for the camera—only this time, with a guy’s hand buried directly in my snatch.

After only one or two minutes of this, the sensation started to catch up. My eyes dropped out of focus, I was breathing too loudly, I was forgetting my light source.

This kind of edgy, hyper-real modeling always left me scattered and discomposed. It was worrisome, and once, I had even shared my concern with RJ. He was confused at first, and then inexplicably smiling when he understood.

“When you don’t now what to do, just keep going, babe. Get to the next, uh, pose. Try to push yourself further. Try more daring things, I mean, more daring poses. Just do what your body tells you to do, and don’t be worried. You’re a natural.”

Suddenly, I didn’t have to think of what to do anymore. The stranger, the guy I didn’t know, moved. He shifted between my legs.

I froze, and Randy stopped fingering me.