It has been over a year since I last done an adult smoking video. One of my friends had seen me online, and that freaked me out. So, I simply stopped performing. Besides, I had earned enough to finish university.
The summer was hot, but it felt great to be done with school. However, the job hunt wasn't going as expected. I hadn't heard back from a single employer. Then, one morning my smartphone chirped with a text message from Ellen. She was the owner of the studio and website where I had done my smoking and sex shoots.
Ellen knew I was done with the business, but her cryptic message intrigued me. The text read, "Twice the money for private modeling." What the world was she talking about? I couldn't help myself, I called her. To my surprise, she said that the financial backer of her company had seen my videos and wanted to hire me to smoke for him privately.
I was quite for a moment, as my mind raced, thinking how much I needed the money, but considering what kind of sick perv this guy might turn out to be. Ellen assured me that he was an extremely wealthy businessman, with a genuine smoking fetish, and nothing else. Furthermore, he insisted that neither of us have any physical contact with each other during the modeling session, and that I remained fully clothed the entire time. He simply wanted to watch me smoke, while he masturbated. How fucking strange!
The pay for modeling at her site had been extremely generous, $1,500 for just a day's work. However, this fellow was apparently willing to shell out $3,000 for just a few hours of my time. I told her I would think about it. She asked if I had heard from Pete.
Pete was my former lover and her cameraman. He was my costar for the videos, having sex with me, while I smoked. Pete was a sweet hot guy, but I had cut off all communications with him, as I was afraid he might drag me back into the business. I was sad to hear he had left her employment shortly after I quit modeling. A wave of guilt washed over me. It was probably my fault. I sighed and hung up.
A few days went by, and no one contacted me for a job interview. So, I thought, fuck it, I called Ellen and agreed to one meeting with the guy. She had me come by her studio and sign a shit load of confidentiality contracts before giving me the man's name and number. I was shocked. He was one of most famous businessmen alive. Brent Wentworth, a boy genius, and billionaire!
As soon as I got back in my car, I called the number. A woman with a stern German accent answered. I identified myself, and she provided several times to choose from for the modeling session. I picked the coming Saturday at 10 AM. She hung up, without so much as a goodbye. My heart was racing. I was going to meet Brent Wentworth, and model for him, while he jerked off. The idea made me both nervous and excited.
Friday night was a flurry of activity. I spent hours changing my mind about what to wear the next day. I finally settled on a short black skirt, white low cut blouse, six inch heels, black nylons, and hot pink panties. I decided to go without a bra, as my tits are small, and I like the freedom.
Tossing and turning, I tried to imagine what it was going to be like. I finally got a bit of sleep, when my alarm went off. After showering, I applied makeup, taking extra time to get it just right. Normally, I didn't bother with eyeliner, but today, I applied it to set off of my green eyes. I brushed my long red hair, and got dressed.
I would never have found his place, if not for the detailed instructions that the German woman had texted me. After driving for a long time in the country, I came to giant security gate with a speaker and camera next to the passenger side of my car. I pushed the button on the speaker and introduced myself. Without a word, the gate swung open.
I drove up the long curving driveway. When the mansion appeared, I was so fascinated that I almost hit a fountain. It was huge, exquisitely appointed palace, with statues, marble, arches, all of which were overly elaborate and ornate. I pulled up in front of the main door, and parked my VW. As gathered up my purse, opened the door, and got out, I almost bummed into a stout older woman, who seemed to appear from nowhere.