Allison's Addiction

My name is Allison Brand, and I'm a model.

For the past four years, I've been a fashion model. I've modeled blue jeans, skirt-suits, sportswear, swimwear, lingerie, just about every sort of type of clothing they sell in America.

And then, my roommate Chloe stepped in and interfered.

Chloe has something of a twisted and playful sense of humor. In addition to that, I gave her authority to be my sexual mentor. Take those two things and combine them together, the result is that Chloe called my agent and told her to change the focus of my modeling career. Instead of looking for fashion modeling jobs, Chloe told her to look for nude modeling jobs.

It was a truly new direction for me.

Standing utterly naked in front of a photographer leaves you feeling vulnerable and exposed. And my Catholic upbringing left me with entrenched feelings of guilt and sinfulness if I took my clothes off in front of a stranger.

"It's part of your sexual training," Chloe explained to me when I tried to complain, "It will help to keep you in the proper mindset."

"Naked and embarrassed is the proper mindset?" I ask.

"Abject surrender is part of the proper mindset," Chloe responded, "And being naked, exposed and accommodating for a total stranger will get you to abject surrender faster than just about anything I know. Take you clothes off for the photographer, be dutiful and obedient, and it will help you to overcome psychological blocks."

"Psychological blocks," I asked, "Seriously?"

"We've discussed this before," Chloe said, "Your strict Catholic upbringing left you all sexually repressed and your libido all bottled-up. The more you surrender control, the more your sexual inclinations will be able to escape the psychological bonds you've placed them in."

This sounded like pseudoscience to me, however, I wasn't willing to challenge Chloe on it at this stage of the game. I refused to admit it out loud, however, the thought of being naked in front of a fully-clothed stranger was already making my loins feel feverish with heat. Yes, I would feel embarrassed and defenseless while a fully-dressed photographer intently examined my naked body, however, those feelings were a large part of what excited me.

Maybe what Chloe was saying was total bullshit, or maybe there was some logic to what she said. Either way, I had discovered that I became disconcertingly excited when I was naked and ogled by fully-clothed strangers.

* * * * *

My first nude photoshoot was with a photographer named Anya Yakovleva. She had become semi-famous for her photographs of nude ballet dancers. I had never danced professionally, however, I had twelve years of ballet training and I still have the same lithe figure, grace and flexibility that I had when I was in training.

And since many professional ballet dancers refuse to pose in the nude, Anya was thrilled when I agreed to pose for her.

"Hello! Come in! Come in! You're right on time," Anya gushed when I arrived at her studio in Campo Verde.

Anya was a middle-aged woman dressed all in black. She had a boyish haircut, a slender waist, and narrow hips. She seemed long and lean, but not fragile. She was passionate and as energetic as a high school teenager at a pep rally.

I was introduced to Anya's assistant and shown around the photography studio. Part of it had been converted to look like a ballet rehearsal studio, with freestanding ballet barres and full-length mirrors across one wall. Another part was set up for me to sit while Anya styled my hair and makeup. Normally photographers hire somebody else to do that, however, Anya was a high-energy control freak. She probably couldn't be idle long enough to allow somebody else to paint and style her models.

"You can change behind the partition," Anya said, "Come out when you're ready and stand over at the barre."

"Change into what?" I asked, not seeing any clothing to change into.

"She means get undressed," Anya's assistant explained, "She needs for you to be naked."

"Yes," Anya agreed, "What Han said. I need you to get undressed."

"You've done nude modeling before, right?" Han asked, and I had to admit that this was my first time.

"Are you nervous?"

My heart beat madly in my chest, and I responded, "Terrified."

It was even worse than I was saying. Inside of me that fear and embarrassment had gotten all mixed up with arousal. The more terrified and humiliated I became, the more my pussy throbbed. I could feel my nipples hardening and my sex growing moist. And my vulva was shaved perfectly bare, which meant there would be no hiding my arousal from these women once I was naked.

And once these two women saw my exposed, swollen labia, I would feel even more humiliated, which would probably make me even more aroused. It was a vicious cycle with no obvious limits. There was no telling what heights of humiliation or arousal I was going to be driven to.

"I think I can help," Anya said, "Posing naked seems terrifying now, but that's largely because you've never done it before. Try to focus on the things you have done before. You've done stretching exercises at the barre before, right?"

I nodded in agreement.

"And straddle splits?"

"Of course," I replied.

"Leg extensions?"

"Yes."

"Arabesque, third position?"

"Yes, Ma'am, thousands of times."

"Well, focus on those things," Anya advised me, "That's all you'll be doing today, really. Focus intensely on making certain that your form is perfect, and you'll worry less about Han and I seeing you naked."

I took a deep breath and promised that I'd take her advice to heart and try to make it work.

I made my way across the room and concealed myself behind the partition. As I undressed, I tried to tell myself that Anya was paying me a lot of money to photograph me in the nude, although, if I were being truly honest, I would never have done this if it weren't for Chloe. Since she became my sexual mentor, it's become impossible to disobey her. It's like I'm desperate for her approval now.

Taking off my shoes and socks were no big deal, but after I pulled off my t-shirt, I felt butterflies in my stomach and my face felt feverish. "Lots of women do nude modeling," I told myself, "I'll bet none of them get this nervous undressing behind a partition."

Then to add to my troubles, my hands started to tremble, and it took multiple attempts to undo the clasps on my bra as my hands were unsteady.

My hands were still unsteady as I undid the button on the front of my jeans and zipped them all the way down. The jeans were easy to tug down even with shaking hands, but I found it difficult to hook my thumbs into the waistband of my panties.

When my panties were on the floor, I was fully naked. I no longer had a valid excuse to hide behind the partition, so I took another deep breath and padded barefoot and naked out into the main area of Anya's photography studio.

Almost immediately my eyes locked with Anya's. My heart pounded frantically, and I tensed up as she marched over and stood close enough to touch me. She was just there to get a light-reading, but I was the only one naked in the room, and it left me in a state of wide-eyed anxiety.

"Just try to forget that Han and I are here," Anya suggested, "Focus on the barre and begin some stretching exercises. The more you focus on stretching your muscles and ligaments, the less you'll worry about who's watching you."

I walked over to the barre and tried to take Anya's advice, but seemed as if I could feel the weight of their gazes on my naked body. That probably sounds strange, but my skin felt as if it was being touched when Anya and Han were looking at me.

Ignoring Anya and her assistant was difficult. Han held an umbrella light on a pole and directed it towards me. Anya pointed her camera at my naked body. All attention in the room was focused on me as I stood at the barre and began my stretching exercises.

I still felt exposed and vulnerable, however, as I focused on warming up and stretching my muscles, my hands stopped shaking and I felt more limber and self-confident.

When I was all warmed up and sweat was beginning to bead on my skin, I stood at the ballet barre with my back to Anya, right leg up on the barre, utterly straight while pointing my toes. I leaned over my extended leg and grabbed my heel with one hand. This exercise is designed to stretch a dancer's hamstrings, however with me totally naked, bent over and my legs apart, it meant that my swollen pubic lips were utterly exposed and indecently on display. And my pussy was so wet at this point, Anya could probably see moisture glistening on my labia.

"If you're finished warming up, we can get on with the more interesting shots now," Anaya suggested.

Anya commanded to hold an Arabesque position, standing on my right leg (the supporting leg) with my other leg (the working leg) turned out and extended behind my body, with both legs held perfectly straight. This is a classic ballet pose, however a ballerina is usually wearing a unitard, a leotard, tights or some sort of ballet costume when doing this. I was utterly naked and feeling very wanton and exposed.

Once again, my legs were very far apart, leaving my pink, swollen pubic lips very much on-display. I couldn't help but think that that was the entire point. Were these photos supposed to be fine art photography, or were they supposed to be porn? Or had Anya found a middle-ground between the two? Fine art erotica? Artistic pornography?

When Anya had enough photos of me extending my leg out rigidly behind me, she then told me to get down on the floor and do a straddle-split.

I was noticing a theme. A straddle-split requires a dancer to spread her legs extraordinarily far apart. It requires flexibility in your hip flexors, groin, quadriceps, and hamstrings. And as I was naked, it left my pubic area indecently exposed. Worse than that, my vagina was wet, and I was pressing my pubic lips into the ground, I ended up leaving a wet spot on the floor while I held this position.

"Beautiful," Anya enthused as she snapped one photo after another, "You look great! Just hold that pose!"

There was an uncomfortable strain in my hip flexor tendons and my groin muscles, but Anya kept telling me how beautiful I was, and encouraging me to hold the position so she could get more photos.

"You're so flexible! You're incredible! You're like an Olympic gymnast," Anya gushed, "You're like a taller, sexier version of McKayla Maroney!"

The strain on my inner thighs was agonizing, but the more Anya showered me with compliments, the more I wanted to please her. I tried to ignore the distress in my stretched muscles, ligaments and tendons, gritted my teeth and tried to maintain my difficult position for as long as it took to make Anya happy.

"Beautiful," Anya said excitedly, "just beautiful! Okay, you can break pose now."

Anya must have gotten a hundred shots of me doing the splits. She gave me a minute or two to recover, and then I was instructed to get up off the floor and do a full leg extension.

For those of you who don't know, a full leg extension is a very physically challenging endeavor. It takes years of training and conditioning.

Fortunately, I'd been training and conditioning my body for ballet even since I was seven years old. I'd spent years strengthening my core, spent years doing stretching exercises, stretching my hamstrings, lengthening my adductors, and increasing my flexibility to levels that ninety-nine percent of humanity can only dream of having.

With as much grace as I could muster, I stood on my right leg and lifted my left until my ankle was just an inch away from my face, and my toes were pointed directly up at the ceiling. This is an extreme stretch, and I could feel the strain in my hamstrings and inner-thigh muscles almost immediately. If a normal human tried this, they'd pull a groin muscle or suffer some other horrible injury. With my years of training, I wasn't about to injure myself, however I could still feel the strain in my muscles and tendons.

"Absolutely amazing," Anya said, her voice filled with admiration, "Your form is perfect."

I smiled at the enthusiastic praise. It seemed that Anya was becoming my biggest fan. She continued to shower me with enthusiastic praise and then she added, "Show us how long you can hold yourself in that position."

My smiled disappeared from my face, and I had to stifle a groan. Achieving this position at all is a super-human feat. Holding it for more than four or five seconds would be agony. Already my muscles were beginning to protest being forced into this unnatural position. My natural impulse was to stop stretching my muscles and tendons to cruelly and to put my foot back down on the floor.

However, my desire to please Anya was powerful. For some reason I urgently wanted Anya to approve of me, so I ignored the protests from my straining muscles, and resolved to hold my extension for longer than I had ever held one before.

Han stood behind Anya her eyes wide and bright. It looked as if Anya wasn't the only one who was impressed.

"She's amazing," Han said softly as she kept an umbrella light pointed at me.

The strain in my muscles intensified and sweat began to break out upon my naked body, yet I continued to hold my leg at full extension. Anya was industriously snapping away, getting dozens of photos of me with my legs spread unnaturally far apart, and I didn't want to break position until Anya had all the photos she wanted.

And as I labored under the agonizing strain of stretching my muscles and tendons dangerously close to the breaking point, it occurred to me that I was in an exceedingly vulnerable position. With my legs so far apart, my pubic lips were very exposed and on display. Of course, as soon as I had this thought, Anya aimed her camera directly at my exposed swollen labia.

I whimpered and panted as the strain in my muscles became increasingly painful, however the fact that Anya was focusing her gaze on my pink, puffy pubic lips made me feel humiliated, wanton, aroused and a strange sense of pride that Anya wanted to examine my sex so intently.

While Anya seemed to gaze admiringly at my moist, inflamed labia, I experienced a deep sexual thrill at being naked, exposed and forced to hold this difficult and revealing pose for Anya and her assistant.

I felt almost like a naked slave on the auction block, being examined and evaluated by prospective buyers, my physical attributes being judged. Being ogled and judged and objectified like probably should have left me feeling annoyed and offended, however I strangely found my situation to be very erotic and delicious. As beads of sweat formed on my torso and breasts, Anya backed away and changed camera angles. Some of her shots seemed to focus on my long legs, others focused on my now-erect and swollen nipples, and others gazed spellbound at the glistening folds of my swollen labia. The most intimate portions of my body were available for Anya to examine and capture on film for all eternity.

Being naked and judged and evaluated while I displayed my swollen labia and held myself in this painfully difficult position for a photographer and her assistant caused a confusing and agonizing wave of desire to pass through me. It was shameful, and humiliating and I was in excruciating pain from the difficult task I was performing, however the same and the humiliation I felt was delicious. In fact; strangely; I found myself wanting the humiliation to continue.

"Han, her leg is trembling," I heard Anya observe, "Assist her in holding that position."

Han took hold of my ankle, gently but firmly, and held my leg in place. I could practically hear my muscles and tendons screaming their protests at me as I continued to abuse them. And could feel droplets of sweat as they rolled down the small of my back, and towards my bare buttocks.

"Okay, we're done here," Anya finally said, "You can put your leg down."

When it was finally over, the muscles and ligaments in my inner thighs screamed with relief. Anya declared that she had all the photos that she needed, and she wrote me a check for my time and suffering.

* * * * *

"Oh, I wish I was there," Natasha whined, "I would have loved to see you posing for that photographer! Did you blush? I'll bet you blushed!"

"She has a gallery opening in six weeks," I replied, "If you want, we can go there together. You can look at the photos and see if I blushed or not."

"Seriously?" Natasha asked, "Oh yes! I wanna go! It'll be the classiest date I've ever been on, taking my girlfriend to a gallery opening!"

"Nat," Chloe said, "You just called Allison your girlfriend. I thought she was your slave."

"She can be both," Natasha insisted, "When I've got her naked and handcuffed, she's my slave. When we're out in public, on a date, she's my girlfriend."

"There are probably ways you can treat her as a slave when she's out in public too," Chloe opined.

"I'm pretty sure I can't take her out in public naked and handcuffed and lead her around on a leash," Natasha shot back. "It would freak people out."

"Probably true," Chloe allowed, "But let me look into it. There may be some public places where you can treat Allison like your slave-girl without freaking people out. Let me do some research on that, and I'll get back to you."

* * * * *

Of course, while we waited for Chloe to finish her research, and waited for Anya's gallery opening, life continued to proceed forward at its normal speed. And my agent continued to find me more nude modeling work. My next nude photo shoot was with a photographer named Barbara Rasch.

Barbara specialized in bondage photography, the sort of photography that usually involved leather restraints and corporal punishment. I strongly suspected that Chloe hand-picked this photographer and told my agent to get me work with her. Being naked, bound and helpless fit in

exactly

with the sort of "proper mindset" Chloe was attempting to keep me immersed in.

* * * * *

My photoshoot with Barbara took place in Augustus Beach. Natasha wanted to tag along, however, her plans were foiled when Natasha's mother insisted on Nat's presence at a family event the very same day. Natasha's twin brother was going off to college and Mom insisted on a big event to mark the occasion.

Anya Yakovleva had a small studio, one model and one assistant. By comparison, Barbara Rasch had a

huge

studio, three models, two assistants, a professional hairdresser, a professional makeup artist and a rigger.

I'm gonna go out on a limb here, and say she had a much larger budget to work with.

The other models were named Romee and Shaun. Shaun and I were the same height, however, Romee was close to six feet tall, and when she wore high heels, she towered over both of us. I felt somewhat intimidated by her the moment I met her.

"You need to strip," Romee said, "And sit there. The hairdresser and the makeup artist need to finish making you pretty before we can get started with the photoshoot."

Romee and I were both models, we both got paid the same and we both took orders from Barbara Rasch, however, Romee managed to make he feel intimidated by her. Part of it was her height, but a bigger part was her attitude. She just had an air of authority and confidence about her.

I soon learned that Romee got to wear a stylish, black outfit during the photoshoot, while Shaun and I were to be naked the entire time. That added to my feelings of being intimidated and outclassed. I felt a sense of solidarity with Shaun, but I felt a sense of cold aloofness from Romee. It was like she thought it was a tiresome chore to deal with inferiors like Shaun and me.