Message-ID: <17991eli$9812130430@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Archived-At: <URL:http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/Year98/17991.txt> From: Model-Bridgette@webtv.net (Bridgette) Subject: "I Was a Model Slave" (3/?), (m/f,f/f,sm,tor,scat,etc) Newsgroups: alt.sex.stories.moderated,alt.sex.stories Followup-To: alt.sex.stories.d Mime-Version: 1.0 (WebTV) Content-Transfer-Encoding: 7Bit Content-Type: Text/Plain; Charset=US-ASCII Content-Disposition: Inline X-WebTV-Signature: 1 ETAsAhQ4KjBLFkUysluMIBpZ7KTR182B3AIUcHxYs8Dml4HyRWnqfePpxNeBXAA= Path: qz!not-for-mail Organization: The Committee To Thwart Spam Approved: <usenet-approval@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Moderator-Contact: Eli the Bearded <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Story-Submission: <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> X-Original-Message-ID: <7539-367369EB-57@newsd-121.bryant.webtv.net> by Model Bridgette I think the shopping trip was James' idea, or maybe the two of them conspired. Anyway, Yvette led me around to different shops and more or less told me what I was going to try on. And then when she found something to her liking, she told me to buy it. I didn't even question her judgment.I might whine about certain clothes, but then she would give me a really stern look or slap my ass in the store ( in front of other people ) and I would be quiet again. Mostly she ordered me to try on clothes that were two sizes too small. She even had me in the little Miss section putting on T-Shirts. They just came over my breasts and you could practically see my nipples poking through. Then she had me put on panties that were too small, and she told me to walk out on the sales floor so she could get a better look. Everybody was staring at me. I had a T-shirt that was too tiny and then the panties that practically showed the outline of my pussy lips. It was humiliating beyond belief. Fortunately, I have so many different looks as a print and runway model that no one recognized me. I went to take them off and then Yvette rushed up to me and scolded me. You will wear those clothes out of here, she said. So I replaced my sandals and then walked out like that. I just felt all eyes were looking at my pussy lips and my nipples. I was afraid that if I had to bend over for something that the seams in my panties would snap. Of course when we got back to the flat, Yvette composed an email and sent it to James. I assumed she was telling him about the shopping trip; Yvette wouldn't let me look at the screen while she was typing. A couple of mornings later, Yvette banged on my door and woke me up. I was ignoring her, but then she opened the door herself and practically dragged me by my hair to the computer. It was James again wanting to talk to me. He said he wanted to see me practice my ballet dance. I don't remember how early it was, but the sun wasn't even shining through the windows yet. I walked back to my room to get my leotards and ballet slippers. James would talk to Yvette while I stretched and danced in front of Yvette. He instructed me to stand on my toes, which I can easily do, but he wouldn't let me relax them. Whenever I started to falter, Yvette would come behind me and pull my body up by my long blonde hair. Whenever I relaxed my toes, she yanked hard on my hair. I usually practiced my ballet once a day, but after that incident, Yvette insisted at unannounced times during the day for me to put on my tight-fitting outfit and dance for her. Yvette would instruct me to dance "sexy" for her. Of course, I had no idea how to do it right and she would slap me from behind or pull on my hair to correct me. She would threaten to cut off all of my hair while I was asleep if I didn't improve my provocative dance routine. I wasn't getting much sleep anymore, even my booker, Juliette, noticed that when I showed up late for photo sessions. Has my sister been taking you out, keeping you up late at night, she would ask. And all I could do was nod, yes. I was afraid that if I said anymore, it might somehow get back to Yvette and I would be in greater trouble. The reason I wasn't getting much sleep was easy to figure out. I went to work usually between 9 and 10 am or earlier and worked until 6 or 7 pm. When I got home I tried to take a quick nap, but Yvette would still be home and she would remind me of all the chores that needed to be done, i.e. laundry, linens, dishes, dinner, shopping, etc. And usually once or twice before she went off to the club, Yvette would order me to put on my skin suit and ballet shoes and dance. On nights when she didn't want me to dance, she would tell me to get the bath ready for her. She had me bathe her and shave her legs and wash and shampoo her brown hair. I would paint her fingernails and toenails whatever color she wanted, and blow them dry. Whenever we did this, Yvette always insisted that I wear those skimpy tight outfits she forced me to buy. Like when I wore my T-shirts that were two sizes too small, she would make sure to splash water on my tits so that my nipples really showed through. I brought her clothes to her for work and I helped dress her every night before she jetted off to the club. That was about the only chance I had to sleep; those 6 to 8 hours while she was dancing and singing at the Cabaret. But as soon as her key hit the door, my body darted out of bed ( wearing only my silk teddy ) and I got the oils ready to give her her massage. Gradually over a few weeks time, Yvette expanded her massage treatment to include her full body. Bridgette, rub my feet. Bridgette, rub oil between my legs. But I never asked for anything in return. My only thought was to keep Yvette from getting upset or from upsetting James across the Internet; I knew if something went wrong with my behavior, then he would come up with something to humiliate me. And my suspicions were right. I let my guard down one night and didn't hear Yvette enter the flat after work. I must have been so exhausted that I slept right through it. When I eventually woke up later that morning, I walked out of my room to find Yvette sitting in front of the computer. Of course, she was talking online with James. I could tell from the cold look Yvette shot my way that she was upset with me and, apparently, James wasn't pleased with me either. I knew I was in trouble. I didn't say a word; I just froze waiting for Yvette to make the first move. Yvette looked at me sternly and said she had already called her sister ( my booker Juliette) and told her that I was sick; I wasn't going to make it into work today. That was the day that Yvette started to get serious with my training. [Back with Part Four soon...] -- +----------------' Story submission `-+-' Moderator contact `--------------+ | <story-submit@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | <story-admin@qz.little-neck.ny.us> | | Archive site +----------------------+--------------------+ Newsgroup FAQ | <http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/>----<http://www.qz.to/erotica/assm/faq.html>