Innocent Ilsa: Portfolio

Ilsa was nervous, and understandably so. This was her first job after landing in London three weeks ago, and despite her initial reservations, the idea of becoming a model did appeal to her. After all, she had the example of Nataly from her village, who came back bearing all sorts of gifts for family and friends just a few months ago.

It was Nataly's visit that made Ilsa reconsider her goals in life. After all, work in small Russian villages like the one she lived in was hard to come by. At the time, Ilsa was simply a shop girl in the town's only grocery store, a position she had gotten not least because the lecherous old grocer had had designs on her.

She had known it the moment he had offered the job to her, and confirmed it on her first day when he slipped his hand under her skirt and felt for her panties, before promising to buy her nice lace ones if she "did it" with him. Of course, Ilsa was having none of that -- at 1.8m tall, with long, honey-blond hair and eyes the brilliant blue of a summer's day, Ilsa had received more than her fair share of attention from the males. . It did not stop her employer from trying, though, which he did with annoying regularity, sometimes within eyesight of his fat, ugly old wife.

In fact, some of her friends, guys and girls, had told her that her legs seemed to "go on forever" and encouraged her to consider modeling, but she had refused because she was a good Russian girl who didn't do that sort of thing

The idea did appeal to her a little, truth be told, but the idea of parading around half-naked in front of total strangers was somewhat abhorrent to her. Besides, there was no way she would be pretty or slim enough to be a model, she had thought -- her breasts were too big at size D, and her ass... well, she thought it was her worst feature because it was too big. All the models she saw on the old television in her apartment were much more slender, with thinner legs and much smaller butts than hers. She would simply look like a monster with her 36-24-35 figure next to them.

Nataly's return to the little burg that was her village changed her thinking on that. Nataly was roughly the same size as Ilsa was... they were schoolmates and she remembered countless occasions when they shared their wardrobes with each other because each had wanted a greater variety of clothing for going out than their finances actually allowed them.

In fact, Nataly's ass was bigger than hers, so when she returned with stories of success in modeling, Ilsa was naturally intrigued. Of course, that she showed up with such luxuriant clothes and jewelry also encouraged Ilsa. If Nataly could make it as a model, so could she, Ilsa reasoned. After all, Ilsa was by far the more popular girl in school -- she had had to reject many more clumsy advances from the boys (and a number of the men) than Nataly had ever had.

While she had pondered her future, she had also thought over the other, less-savoury rumours making their rounds in the village about the source of Nataly's riches. Some said that she had managed to find a rich old man who doted on her; others insisted that Nataly had become a porn star and prostitute, and regularly sold her services to the highest bidder at nightclubs.

She didn't believe her schoolmate would even consider such a thing -- Nataly had been a real prude when she was schooling with Ilsa -- so she didn't put much store in such rumours. Still, it was disturbing, to say the least, that the same villagers who were receiving Nataly's gifts with such enthusiasm were saying such things about her.

She had made up her mind when her employer escalated his crude attempts at bedding her the very same week that Nataly returned. She had been on the stepladder in the storeroom, looking for a carton of canned food that her boss had asked for, when he sneaked in behind her and put his hands up her short skirt.

It had irritated her that he had insisted on her wearing the outfit, but Ilsa felt she had had little choice. The salary he was paying her was a mere pittance, and although the uniform was so obscenely short it barely covered her behind, it at least meant she did not have to worry about what to wear for work everyday.

Of course, the length of the skirt made her work difficult -- on her first day, she was asked to reach for items placed at floor level at every opportunity, by her employer and the long line of men who were suddenly interested in buying groceries. After the third time, she realized why -- the door had opened at the time, and she had realized she was exposing her ass cheeks when she felt the cold air blowing on her exposed backside. Being the resourceful 18-year-old, Ilsa had adapted by squatting to pick up the items. The following day, she brought along a long-handled scoop so she didn't have to bend over, much to the chagrin of the male customers.

Instead of being upset at being foiled, her employer had been pleased -- he had sidled up to her and whispered: "I can tell you are a good girl, Ilsa. Good girls get heavenly rewards if they do as they are told", while his hand strayed up her skirt and ran along the leg seam of her panties.

She had quickly moved away to show her displeasure at being manhandled thus, but it seemed to inflame her boss' passions even more. In the intervening days, he would find every opportunity to stand next to her and run his hand up and down her buttocks. The only way Ilsa could get away from such unwanted attention was to stand next to his wife, but such respite was not offered often, because the old woman was seldom at the shop.

The incident in the storeroom, which was essentially the last straw for Ilsa, happened just two months into her job at the grocery. All the men were going gaga over Nataly and Ilsa had foolishly thought that her employer would be similarly smitten, but he had had other plans, now that there were less people visiting his store.

He had instructed her to go into the storeroom to get a carton of canned food from the top shelf. This was something he normally did himself, and it did seem a little strange to Ilsa that he was asking her to do it instead, but she did as she was told -- he was still her boss, after all. It was to be an instruction she would regret following.

As she lifted the carton from the shelf and moved to step down the ladder, she felt her boss' fat hands sliding up the outside of her thighs. "Stop it!" she hissed at him, her arms struggling to hold on to the heavy weight. He chuckled behind her, ignoring her protest, and proceeded to hook his fingers into the waistband of her panties and pull them down past her knees.

In shock, Ilsa's first instinct had been to clamp her thighs together to deny him the sight of her naked sex, but he was as quick as he was insistent -- his hands rushed up again to pry her buttocks apart and expose her anus and vulva to his leering eyes.

"Oh, such a beautiful golden treasure. I will give you great pleasure," he had purred, and before she had been able to do anything else, he had placed his mouth within the groove of her ass and started sucking and licking. She had shuddered when she felt his tongue probing at her ass and pussy holes -- it was not something she had ever experienced, even though she had heard about it -- and the idea that the repulsive little man she called her boss was trying to give her sexual pleasure was disgusting to say the least.

Ilsa had screamed at him to stop and pushed back at him with her butt while taking another step down, but this had only encouraged him further -- he responded by pulling at her hips, cocking them so he had better access to her secret places. Since he was in her way, and her hands were full, she had had no other option than to drop the carton before turning round and pushing him away, before pulling up her panties and stepping down onto the bare storeroom floor.

Desperation must have lent her strength, for she managed to push the fat little man hard enough so he had landed on his backside, his mousy moustache damp. "I quit, you pervert!" she had yelled at him, before striding off to the toilet to change into her clothes.

He had recovered his composure by the time she was done, and determined to regain the high ground. "You little whore, you're paying for all the tins you destroyed in there," he yelled. "You are going to have to work your ass off to pay me back!"

"Even if I do, I won't be working my ass off here, under such a disgusting little pervert like you," she had shot back at him as she left the store. "Only your wife can stand to put up with slimy scum like you!"

It wasn't only until she was sitting in her little apartment, after the rush of adrenaline had subsided, that Ilsa started to cry. Life was not fair. It was not her fault that her parents had died when she was a little girl, leaving her to suffer at the hands of bullies at the local orphanage. When she had gotten the job at the grocery, she had thought her luck had finally changed for the better... only to find that her employer was no different from the dozens of boys and men who were all waiting for her to drop her panties for them. Fiends, all of them.

As her tears dried, Ilsa had remembered her friend Nataly, and decided that she should take the same path as her schoolmate. As long as she was rich, she reasoned, she would no longer have to suffer at the hands of the bullies. She had looked Nataly up the next day, and her friend had kindly offered to introduce her to an agent in London... which was how she ended up standing outside the door of this ivy-covered house just outside of the city, waiting an answer to the ringing doorbell.

The door opened, revealing a dark-haired, smiling girl roughly her own age. "Hi, I'm Chris," the girl said, offering her hand. "Ilsa," she replied politely, taking her hand. This was what her friend Nataly had taught her to do. "My name is Ilsa."

"Come on in, then Ilsa," invited Chris, opening the door wide. Ilsa stepped into the warm, sparsely furnished room. It looked bare, but Nataly had told her that this was common -- photographer's studios were seldom cluttered with items that could get in the way of shooting. At the back of the room, Ilsa saw a metallic contraption standing in front of a large white sheet.

"Right, Nataly tells me you want to be a model but you don't have a portfolio," continued Chris. It took Ilsa a few seconds to understand what she was saying, but "portfolio" was something she was told she needed to have, so she nodded her assent.

"OK then, the changing room's over there," Chris motioned to a door to her right. "Your suit's inside. Get changed so we can get started." When Ilsa stood still, looking a little confused, Chris made the motions of changing clothes, then pointed to the door once more. "Christ, come on, we don't have all day," she muttered.

Ilsa understood what Chris wanted her to do, and was about to step towards the room when she noticed a couple of men at the back of the studio. They seemed to be fiddling with the contraption and the white sheet.

"Nyet," she said to Chris, nodding towards the men. Chris appeared to understand her immediately. Clearly, Nataly had explained her requirements to Chris. No men in the studio, she had told Nataly. I'm a little shy about wearing so little in front of a man.

"No men," Chris nodded, then mimed the actions of setting up while explaining in English: "They are helping me set up this shoot. They'll leave when they are done." She motioned with her hands so Ilsa would understand that the men would be leaving soon.

"OK," replied Ilsa, reassured that her first photo shoot would be alone with this female photographer. "I go now."

"Good girl," replied Chris, patting her on her buttocks as she walked past. Ilsa had a moment's panic when it happened -- was Chris one of those lesbians she'd heard about, who liked women? After all, the slim, pretty girl was dressed in black slacks and a black shirt. Being rather small-breasted, she looked quite androgynous. Then it occurred to Ilsa that even if she was, Chris was after all, still a woman. She had everything Ilsa had, so there was really nothing to be afraid of.

Thus assured, Ilsa proceeded to the changing room. The suit she was given was, as Ilsa had expected, rather more revealing than she was comfortable with. After stepping out of her simple underwear and putting on the lacy item, she looked at herself in the mirror.

She looked good, she had to admit. The material was soft and clung to her curves. It was cut high in the legs, making her legs look even longer than they already were. In fact, it was cut so high in the sides that her backside was pretty much exposed, making her blush when she turned to view herself in the mirror. Her ass was so round and big, the material just went in between the cheeks. Maybe this was a mistake.

She turned to face the mirror and realized that it was so low cut in front that she could see the edges of her areolae. Embarrassed, Ilsa pulled the material upwards to cover the pink smudges that were showing. Unfortunately, this had the effect of pulling the material tight against her bare pussy, making her twitch.

That was another thing Ilsa had had to put up with. Nataly had explained that all the models waxed their genitals, to remove any hairs that might show on the clothes they wore. Looking at her reflection in the mirror, Ilsa could see why -- the material was so white and sheer her pussy hair would have been clearly visible.

The problem was, after having her privates waxed two days ago, Ilsa was feeling a little itchy down there. The material pressing against her bare flesh was not helping at all. When she pulled at her top, the suit had slipped into the groove of her sex, rubbing excruciatingly at her sensitive flesh.

Ilsa saw her labia bulge out around the thin strap of material that was now pressing into her vulva and blushed even redder. This would not do at all. The suit was too revealing. When she plucked the material out and smoothed it over her throbbing mons, she was mortified to see that the material revealed everything when wet -- she could see her pubic cleft clearly under the translucent material. But how was she to communicate with Chris? Ilsa felt a little bad about wasting her time... she seemed to be quite a nice girl.

"Ilsa? Are you ready?" came a voice from the other side of the door. Without warning the door swung open. "Don't worry, the guys have left," assured Chris at Ilsa's sudden squeal.

"It's ok, Ilsa, no men, look!" said Chris as she led the frightened girl out into the studio. It looked like they were alone in the studio, but Ilsa kept her hands covering her breasts and pubic region. "Relax, it's just us girls here."

Chris led her to the contraption she had noticed when she first entered the studio. It looked a little like her old bicycle, except that its front wheel was missing. It was rather tall, so much so that she would have trouble putting a foot on the ground if she were seated on the narrow saddle without falling over. The whole thing was tilted forward, as if it were on a slope. Ilsa looked at the thing curiously, wondering what its purpose was.

Chris noticed her stare, and laughed. It was a girly laugh, almost like a bell tinkling, and Ilsa relaxed a little. Chris was still a girl, after all, just like she was. Of course, she could relax. Anyway, she was here for her photo shoot, and she was sure that Chris would not do anything to make her uncomfortable. What was it Nataly had told her? "The best in the business," that's what she was.

"Here, let me show you what you should do," Chris said, noting that the Russian girl had let her hands drop to her sides. Good, she was finally relaxing.

A picture of a model wearing a similar suit, perched on the same contraption, was produced. Ilsa's eyes widened. The pose looked quite challenging, the way the woman was bent over the cycle, holding on to its handlebars and pushing up her ass so that her body was parallel to the ground. The suit she was wearing was similarly high-cut, making her ass look bare in the picture. But she was smiling at the camera and appeared quite relaxed in the picture, so Ilsa reasoned to herself that she could do it too. "This is my first job, I must make a good impression," she thought as she looked at way the model posed in the picture.

Chris was saying something to her. "I want you to get on it, just like that girl," she said, then, mindful of the fact that Ilsa's grasp of English was rudimentary, she mimed the motions to show Ilsa how she wanted her to get onto the thing.

Ilsa looked at the cycle doubtfully. Although the model looked comfortable in the picture, the real thing looked fragile, and she wasn't sure it would take her weight. The smooth saddle was so thin that her ass would certainly hang over the sides if she were to sit on it. Plus, it didn't look like it was very stable, the way it was balanced on the tip of a knob-shaped strut, whose rounded tip could be seen through the hole in the middle of it. The seat was cocked at an angle, its forward end pointing down at the floor. The precariously perched saddle was supported by a wire connected to clip that clung to the back of it.

Ilsa shook her head at Chris, saying "No, no," and pointing to the seat and then to her own ass. "You're not supposed to sit on it, you silly girl," explained Chris, who then mimed the pose she wanted Ilsa to take up. "Look... you know what a car is? Car?"

Ilsa nodded. "Car" was what Nataly had come back in. An "expensive" one too. Then she shook her head at the saddle once more. "No." She pointed to her own ass and opened her arms wide.

Chris laughed even harder. "You are the car, Ilsa," she said, pointing at Ilsa's barely covered chest. "You. Car."

"Car?" Ilsa said, pointing to herself. "Car!" "Yes, car," confirmed Chris. She pointed to the photograph she had shown Ilsa earlier, and Ilsa finally realized that she had meant for her to pose with her ass just above the seat. She was not supposed to touch the seat, she was only to put her feet into the pedals and lean forward. Her body would be the chassis of the 'car' that Chris wanted to photograph.

Oh. She had taken some acting classes as a student in Russia, and she was familiar with the concept of "being" something else. She had been variously posed as a tree, a rock, a flower and a table. Being a car would be child's play.

Tapping her shoulder, Chris pointed to some wires that were connected to the ceiling, which Ilsa had not noticed before. Her fingers then pointed to the small loops at the waist of and straps of her garment, and Ilsa realized that her weight would be supported by the wires, to enable her to keep the pose. She smiled in understanding, and Chris seemed pleased.

"Here, have a drink before we start," Chris said, suddenly snatching up a small flask from the small table where her lenses and other paraphernalia were stacked. "Drink."

"Drink?" queried Ilsa, and she understood immediately when she saw the smaller girl mimic taking a sip from the flask. "Oh. Drink. Ok." She took the flask from Chris and sipped at the warm fluid within. It was nice, clearly an alcoholic drink, but not too heavy. Ilsa had drunk vodka before, so this was really more of a pick-me-up for her.

"Drink up, Ilsa," said Chris, and the girl nodded, then finished off the rest of the liquid in the flask. She was thirsty, after all, and a little hungry, but the sheer excitement of having her first photoshoot was taking the edge off her hunger. It wasn't like she wasn't used to being hungry, anyway.

"OK, now we start," said Chris when she put down the drained flask. Ilsa caught a look of surprise on the other girl's face as she lowered it, but it was quickly replaced by a look of satisfaction. Good, she was actually doing well here, Ilsa thought.