The musty stench of mold, mildew, and who knows what else was only partially covered by the hundred or so sticks of burning incense. Photography lights burned into our retinas, blinding us, and the crumpled tarps on the filthy floor may have hidden the dirt, leaves, and rat droppings from view beneath us, but the infestation and decay were evident everywhere.
Having always thought that being a professional model meant first-class flights to beautiful, exotic locales, affluent and picturesque sets, and decadent luxury, I was less than pleased to discover that we flew coach to a run-down little burg nestled in a forest, to shoot in a rat- and graffiti-infested, dilapidated, abandoned church. The place, the situation, and I were all fucked up. However, I was determined to earn the promised money.
Learning the hard way why models always wear sunglasses—they hide the bloodshot eyes from too much indulgence—I took it easy on the ride to the photo session. Hair of the dog, followed by just enough of Rayven’s no-cares, fuck-me-hard pills to avoid the punishment of the prior night’s behavior, had me in a happy place and dripping-wet horny. No limousines for us out in the boonies; a rickety, rusted-out van carried us to the disintegrating chapel.
Concentrating on the money steeled my nerves when I saw the place. Who needs Gothic props when Satanic graffiti covers the walls and cobwebs hang from everything? The rats served as extras, fearlessly milling about, nonplussed at Rayven’s shrieks. Still, though, Eli, the male model for the shoot, was a sexy hunk of man-flesh, and quite the gentleman.
Eli was tall and dark-haired, with firm muscles over his lanky frame. His eyes matched his long, gently-curling tresses, midnight blue surrounded by vibrant white. Smiling and joking, he instantly put me at ease. Very much unlike his shrew of a girlfriend, Clarice, I liked Eli and was very attracted to him. The sexual chemistry between us could not be denied.
I was on my fourth or fifth wardrobe change, this one was a pair of tight, ass-enhancing leather pants and a cleavage-revealing, lace-up halter top. Barefoot, my body covered in dirt, I writhed around on the floor, Eli stalking over me. He was practically shirtless, wearing a black and gray kilt, chrome studded gloves of black leather, and a mesh shirt that hid nothing. My cunt was so wet that it felt like I peed myself.
“That’s fucking perfect,” Esteel said in his commanding tone. His constant patter conducted our poses. “Now, Eli, tuck the hem of your skirt into the waistband and poke your cock at Domino’s face.”
He shrugged and obeyed.
“What the fuck is your cock limp for? Just fucking look at her.”
“Sorry. Give me a minute.”
“Time is money, you sorry fuck. Do I need to go over there and suck your cock for you? I will.”
“I got it, Esteel,” I interjected. Eli and I shared a giggling moment as I pulled myself off the filthy floor and got onto my knees.
Grabbing his cock, I plunged my lips over the head. Eli was polite enough to moan in passion. I cradled his scrotum with one hand, using the other to stroke his manly thighs. As it grew long, thick, and hard, I plunged my mouth down the shaft, my spit making it glisten in the smoky light.
“YES,” our photographer screamed. He had moved up close, the camera’s shutter constantly clicking. “Fuck her face, and get the fucking glove in the shot. Stroke it while she sucks you off.”
I plunged my head up and down his cock, wishing it was buried in my pussy, and I forgot all about the dirty church. When I finally remembered that I was just getting hard for Esteel’s shot, I pulled my mouth off his cock.
“What the fuck did you fucking stop for? Did I tell you to stop sucking him, you fucking slut?”
“Technically, you did,” Eli interjected.
“Yes,” I added. “You said you wanted him hard and poking his junk in my face. Just so you know, I may be a slut, but I’m not your slut.” I looked up at Eli and winked at him. “But I’ll be yours, Eli.”
“Change of plans,” Eli stated. “Jack off on her face. Domino, tits fucking out, mouth open, and pretend that you like it.”
“Gladly. Cum on my face, Eli. Stroke that big cock and paint my lips, just make sure you can get up it for me later.” I reached up to fondle his balls.
“Get your fucking hand out of the shot.” His camera snapped away until Eli announced that he was going to cum.
I smiled and opened my mouth, sticking out my pink tongue for him to aim at. Looking into the camera’s lens as Eli’s hot spurts of cum blasted my lips, mouth, and mask, I was so fucking horny that I began fingering myself through the leather pants.
“Genius,” Eli exclaimed. “Keep doing that while I shoot some wide shots. Eli, change to the next outfit and have Rayven tie you to the cross.
When my lust peaked to the point that I was panting, my bastard boss made me stop.
“Last outfit, and then we’re done. Domino, don’t wipe the cum off your face, but get into the spiderweb dress. Grab a whip, too. And will somebody please throw some more food in front of the fucking altar, so we can get the rats in the frame?”
Everyone rushed to accommodate the end of the shoot. While it only took ten minutes, it seemed like hours. Elie, wearing shiny compression shorts with skulls and daggers on them, was tied to the cross, a torn t-shirt over his muscular chest. The spiderweb dress was exactly that, small, irregular patches of sheer material stitched over randomly angled net strings. The stunning, sexy effect was slutty, sultry, and arousing.
“Now, whip your man and be brutal. I want to see real pain. Somebody tear that dress so one of her tits shows.”
Taking a toke on an offered water pipe and feeling like a dominatrix vixen, I slowly walked up the dais, pausing as instructed.
“Stick that amazing ass out more and arch your back. Look at the camera. Give me an orgasm face. Now, spread your legs and hump the whip. Did I tell you that you could cum on the fucking thing?”
