BDSM Library - Carlton\'s Studio

Carlton\'s Studio

Provided By: BDSM Library

Synopsis: Missy is a girl who owes rent to her landlord. Her landlord knows a Carlton, a man for whom pretty, indebted girls are a resource to be worked.


© smackmagnet


I brought my mate who had this photography studio this bird who hadn't paid my rent. She hadn't paid me for about five months and at first cause she was kind of nice looking and I sort of fancied my chances so I didn't do anything about it, but after a point it got ridiculous and I told her to pay up or get out. And she obviously didn't have anyone to fall back on cause she never came up with any money. Wouldn't or couldn't tap the parent or parents for it, obviously no boyf with a few quid ready to help out, and she was fucked cause she'd been too lazy to get a job. So she begged me not to chuck her out on her ear and in a moment of kindness I told her if she couldn't come up with the cash she'd have to work her way out of it. Only I don't know any blokes who run girls as prozzies, but I do know this half a mate who runs this seedy photography studio. I mean, proper seedy, all he did was rent out studio space to blokes who wanted to take dirty pictures of dirty birds. Had this model book full of 'em. So one night I really lost it with her and I told her she'd got to put herself on his books and be a photographic model. She begged off of any boy girl stuff, only most togs who use that place don't want to see that stuff, what they want is a bird on her own who's showing all she's got.

Anyway I know I'm cutting to the chase here but I made her come with me to this mate's place and my mate said she weren't bad but he'd seen better, only he'd also seen a lot worse. So he took her in the back and took a few figure pictures of her for his book.

He brought her out where I was sitting with my cuppa after that and he went to me, "How much she owe you then?"

"Five months," I said.

"Five months rent? How much is that in actual?"

"Three thousand quid."

"Fucking hell, what's she living in, a palace?" he went pulling this gurney face.

"Going rate," I said. "One bed flat."

"So how fast you want it back?"

"Fast as possible," I told him.

"Cause three thousand quid's a lot of hours this girl's got to clock up. And I don't know if I've got enough togs on my books to earn her that much. Not unless she does a big variety of styles, anyroad. Thirty quid an hour is standard here for UK mag style, forty for American mag and only fifty for toys. I can't scare the punters off, can I? Half my lot are doing this off their pensions. I mean if she did all that and she did a bit of proper fetishy stuff on the side we might get a bit more, but I can't charge for her more'n I charge for the other girls, can I?"

I don't think the girl had much of a clue what any of them phrases meant, cause she wasn't somebody who'd ever though of doing this before, she wasn't a natural wannabe model.

But anyway he put her on his books. He didn't photograph her himself for some reason, like he normally does with the other girls. Cause it's part of his agreement with them, he takes a few free sets when he feels like it and they get to stay on his books. Possibly he just hadn't got around to it, I don't really know what reason.

Anyway one bloke showed an interest even though Carlton said she was a complete ingenue. I think basically with new girls, he says they're unpublished and that's sort of supposed to be a selling point, that they might get the first publishable pictures of these birds and make a few quid off them. So this first tog takes her pictures. And Carlton never told me at the time because basically I wasn't there, but he told me after when it all blew up, that he asked this first bloke if he was happy with her afterwards, and the bloke was less than a hundred percent enthusiastic.

But anyway there was a second bloke as well, only he never said nothing after his shoot, he just skipped off out of the studio before the bird did. But this third bloke, I think it must have been a couple of weeks after, Carlton asked him straight after his two hour shoot if she'd done alright for him, cause the bloke was looking a bit leery, and the bloke said he felt like he'd wasted his money.

Now, Carlton is nothing if he's not a bit pragmatical sometimes. And this bloke saying he felt like he'd wasted his money, well that was a no-no in his book, because his togs are the blokes who pay his rent for him, right? What it all comes down to is, it's the togs, not the models, who've got to be kept happy. So if one of his paying customer gets pissed off and feels like he's wasted his hard-earned, well that's a big problem for Carlton cause he might lose a good repeat punter. So he asks the bloke if he's paid the girl and the bloke says he has. So my mate Carlton calls her into the office with them both and he tells her point-blank to give the punter his money back, all of it. Plus Carlton never charges him the studio rental. Then he tells the girl to wait in the changing room while he calls the second bloke, the one who never said nothing, and he asks him straight, "You know that bird you photographed? Did you get more or less what you was wanting from that one?"

And this bloke says, "Well to be perfectly honest with you Carlton, no not really."

"Seriously? How comes?" Carlton asks him.

"Well I wouldn't normally talk about what I do in a shoot," this second tog says, "but to be frank, I found her a bit stingy with her posing."

"Stingy how?" Carlton asks. "If you wouldn't mind calling a spade a spade for me."

And the bloke says the following: "That girl takes forever to get into a pose. Once she's in it she stays in it for about five seconds then moves out of it, so all you get is one snap then it's back trying to coax back her to opening her legs. Plus she seriously resists getting into some pretty standard poses. And with that bird, wider consistently means wider by about a millimetre. And the next time. Add the next time. And she don't even fucking smile."

And Carlton tells the punter than another bloke has just told him the same thing and he's given him his money back. And he asks the bloke what would he prefer, his money back or a free shoot with the same bird after Carlton himself has taught her what her job is? And the bloke says that while the money is tempting, what he really wanted all along was a proper session taking some proper dirty pics, and how can he guarantee that the bird will do right the second time what she did all wrong the first time? And Carlton says just leave it to him, once he's done with her she'll jump when he says jump and spread when he says spread, as wide as he fucking wants.

"How long was your session with her then?" Carlton asks.

"Two hours, Carlton," the punter tells him.

"I'll give you four hours for absolute free with her, no model fees, no studio fees," Carlton tells him. "What was she supposed to go up to?"

"American spreading," the bloke says.

"Is that what you're after or would you fancy inserts thrown in?" Carlton asks.

"Well I mostly just want the American," says the bloke. But if she'll throw in some dirtier shots as well I'd not say no."

"She'll do you full-on American and you can get her to stick whatever you feel like up her snatch, so long as it fits," Carlton says, "And if you've got any problems at all with her you can call me in and I'll fucking sort her out."

"Sounds more than generous," the bloke says.

"And so far as the spreading goes, you can demand it from the first pose to the last. I can't have my members going away dissatisfied. You give her a pose, and she don't do it as full-on as quick as a flash, and hold it till the cows come home, then I'll be a Dutch uncle."

Straight after this call he gave me a bell and I had to cope with him ranting on for what seemed like half an hour about me and her losing him his fucking business. Then he tells me to get over his place pronto. And to be honest I'd been on my way there anyway cause I was hoping to pick up the hundred nicker she was just supposed to have earned for me.

When I get there this last punter's already left but the bird's still in the changing room. And Carlton says to me, "She's a fucking liability mate." And I look proper upset and ask him, "Can't we just train her up and give these blokes a freeby to make it up? And he stares at me and says, "Well at least there we're on the same fucking page," and he calls the stupid tart out for a grilling.

She's looking a bit in shock and I'm pretty certain she's been able to hear a lot of his ranting over the blower. She's not changed out of her modelling gear yet, she's looking seriously sheepish like she's been caught out by the teacher. It's like that sometimes with these young birds, Carlton tells me, cause all their lives up to here they've been brainwashed to accept the authority of their elders and betters and just cause they've been away from school for a couple of years doesn't mean they've been cured of the habit.

Even so, when Carlton starts ranting straight at her, she starts to get how serious it is. "You owe Alan three thousand nicker," he says. "Three fucking thousand. So I take you on here out of the fucking kindness of my heart, doing a mate a bit of a favour to help you and him out of a tricky situation. And what the fuck do you do? How do you fucking repay this kindness? That feller who booked you just told me he felt like he'd wasted his money! And the first bloke who took pics of you said you weren't exactly all that. So I phoned the second bloke, who hadn't said nothing, and he tells me exactly why it is you're such a waste of fucking space! You pose too slow, he says, way too fucking slow! Then once he finally gets you in the semblance of a decent pose, you stop in it for about three seconds or one measly snap then fucking stand up so he's got to start all over again! And worst of the fucking lot, he tells me that even when you are posing for them measly three fucking seconds, you're fucking stingy with it! He tells you to spread - no you're right, darling, I'm not mincing my fucking words, so don't look at him for help - he tells you wider and wider to you means half a fucking millimetre! Are you trying to destroy my fucking business for me? You fucking waste of space, I now have three of my best customers thinking I'm pushing a dodgy model on them and basically fucking cheating them out of their money! What d'you think that kind of thing's going to do for my reputation? Cause those buggers'll tell other buggers and before you know it my entire fucking clientele will be deserting me, you stupid little cow! And on top of all that there's my good mate Alan here who's now seriously embarrassed by how much you're embarrassing me, plus he ain't getting a fucking penny off of you today cause I had no option but to give your entire fee - and my own fucking studio hire fee - back to the punter!"

She's standing there flinching as he flings each grubby little charge at her. Her eyes are looking teary, she's red in the face and there's more than a hint of trembling.

"Well?" he shouts. "What have you got to say for yourself?

"Um… sorry?" she squeaks.

"Sorry? Is that it?"

She just stands there, knees pointing in, like a rabbit caught in headlights.

"Jesus, what a waste of space. You fucking will be sorry by the time I've finished with you. Through there now! Back in the studio, you pathetic little tart."

"Sorry?" she goes.

"Get in the fucking studio! Now!"

She jerks forward like she's been hit with a whip. Well he'd shouted at her, hadn't he?

"What you gonna do wiv her?" I ask him as she disappears inside.

"We," he says.

"We what?"

"What are we gonna do with her? She's your fucking responsibility as well as mine, sunshine. So you're in there with me and we're fucking teaching her a lesson."

"A lesson like what?" I ask him.

"A lesson like we teach her her fucking job, and we make sure she ain't gonna forget it. You're on the video camera and I'm taking stills, and we teach her how to leave my punters fucking happy."

I'm still a bit shaky about the idea. "What, you fink it's appropriate?" I ask. "Like, I am still her landlord."

"Jesus Christ," he says in a furious whisper. "We're going in there. Both of us, me and you. And we don't come out till we're absolutely fucking certain that that stupid little cunt you brought me will never piss off another one of my punters. Not for a single fucking second!

Carlton's Studio

by Smackmagnet


We was in after the bird as soon as he'd dug out his cameras. I can just about work my way around a video camera and this one he's got has got all sorts of autofocus and image stabilisers and whatnot, cause half his togs are amateurs in the extreme, so once he'd clicked the odd switch for me I was away. Even so, he waited for me to get set up before laying into her. All he asked me after that bit of a fiddle was, "Are you on?" and he's back laying into her.

"Three fucking punters," he rants. "Three of my best clients, paying photographers, who now think I'm taking the piss because you have basically been fucking my entire reputation up its arse! You stupid fucking cow. What is it, d'you think you're special or something? You think the world should molly-coddle you? You stupid bint, you're here cause you fucked him up in the first place! But apparently fucking one honest man up the arse isn't enough for you and you've got to fuck me up the shitter as well!" Bit of a pause for a second. Basically she's been flinching like an idiot each time he calls her a stupid fucking cow or a silly bint or whatnot. Probably nobody's ever talked to her like that in her entire fucking life before. And he goes next, "You know what your job is in here? What your actual job is? Six words, six fucking words, that's what your job is. You ready for the big revelation?"

She looks scared as a whimpering puppy. She nods this tiny little nod.

He lays it on thick, voice all dripping sarcastic. "You do what the photographer says. Did you hear that? I'll say it again. You do what the photographer wants. Cause believe me darling, you don't have the option of thinking you're above it, not with you owing him what you owe him and not with you fucking my fucking reputation up the arse! Three fucking complaints I've had, three fucking complaints out of three fucking customers! From three of my best customers an' all, who I personally recommended your sorry arse to! You pose too slow. You won't stop in a pose. And you're stingy as an oyster with a pearl in its pussy. So you know what? Me and him here, we're gonna teach you your fucking job, and make sure you fucking learn it!"

The poor bird was quaking in her boots. He looked around for a prop. Grabbed a tall kitchen breakfast bar stool with a screw down seat and no back and clonked it in the middle of the colourama that was still out on the floor from her last shoot. He spun the seat till it lowered itself down further than I might have figured. Then he says, "Get over it."

"Sorry?" my non-paying tenant Angela asks.

"Get over the fucking stool."

She starts to nervously lower her bum onto the seat.

"Over it!" Carlton shouts.

She stops going down with a jerk, half stands up, really nervously and keeping her knees bent.

"Get over the fucking stool!"

"How?" she asks.

"On your fucking stomach, you stupid fucking tart, how else?"

"Don't shout at me!" she quails.

And he's off. "Don't shout at you? Don't fucking shout at you? You stupid, sorry little cunt, don't fucking shout at you? On your stomach, on the fucking stool, now!"

She jerks towards it, but she's either too frightened by the shouting or she genuinely still doesn't understand, and she doesn't get as far as actually touching it with her stomach.

He goes up to her. He leans right over her. He says, "Are you just extremely stupid then? Is that what your problem it, that you're too fucking thick to understand a clear instruction?" He shouts right in her ear. "Well? Are you?"

Her voice is quaking. "No?" she goes, asking it like a question.

"You dozy, stupid little cunt. Stick your stomach on the fucking stool!"

I got to admit that when he called her a stupid cunt I was in new territory. I heard a bloke call a bird a stupid this and a stupid that before, like he just done when he called her a stupid bint and a stupid tart. But I never heard a bloke call a bird a stupid little cunt before. Did the trick though, cause she dropped her stomach onto the top of that stool. Fair pressed her stomach to it!

She had on this white basque which right at this point was holding a fairly decent pair of 36 C's in, plus she had on a pair of white stockings to match and a pretty garish pair of non-matching red knickers over the suspendies hanging down from the basque. Down on her feet was a pair of clunky high heels with big thick heel parts. Plus this girl's got a decent head of genuine blonde hair on her which this punter before had had her put up in stupid-looking schoolgirl bunches. She was now perched over this stool with her knees bent and her hands, which were, no question, trembling, just gripping the legs of the stool. And he tells her, "Pull your knickers down to you knees."

She still doesn't react, after all that. "Sorry?" she goes.

"What's your job?" he asks her quick as a flash.

There's real hesitation.

"What-is-your-job? Parrot it back to me."

"Um..." she says.

"Fuck sake." He stands up behind hert. And no warning, he wallops her on her arse. I swear, she nearly jumped out of her skin. He brings his big, heavy black hand down with a right royal crack onto one of her arse cheeks, no preamble, he just cracks her one. Her eyes had opened like fried eggs, you can see all their whites, and she's flinching so strong she nearly falls off her stool.

"Your job? Do what the photographer tells you." He says this quiet near her ear, but he cracks his hand down hard on her arse again. "What did I tell you to do then?"

"Um… um… do what the photographer says?"

"No, before that."

She just stops there, trembling like a clockwork toy. "Um… um…"

He shouts it at full volume. It's a good job we're in a basement with his flat on top, I think. "Pull your stupid red knickers down to your stupid fucking knees! Why am I still fucking waiting?"

Her little hands shoot all a-tremble and tug her garish red knickers down to her little knocking knees.

"Good. Now grab your arse cheeks."

"What?" she asks.

"Fucking unbelievable," he says. "Just how stupid can you possibly be? What did I just tell you?"

"Grab my…"


Her face is starting to dissolve in tears. He has no sympathy. He turns to me and says, "What kind of a fucking idiot tit head have you brought me here?"

"I fink she's a bit scared, Carlton," I say.

"Scared? Is she fucking scared? She fucking will be by the time I've finished with her." And he reaches down and grabs one of her arms. Yanks it back and clamps it on a buttock. Grabs the other arm, pulls that back too. She squeaks in fear as he does it.

"Now get up," he says.

It takes her a moment to react, but the next thing she does is drop her hands down so she can start to push herself up. Quick as a flash, Carlton shoves his big black hand down on the middle of her back. He lowers his head towards hers. "When did I tell you to let go of your arse?" he asks, halfway calm.

"Um, you said get up," she says.

"I know I did, it was me who said it."

"I've got to…"

"No you fucking haven't. What was the last thing I said?"

"Get up?"

He pushes close and wallops her across a thigh. "Before that, you time-wasting little cunt!"

She squeals as he slaps her again. Her answer is barely above a whisper. "Grab my bottom."

"So when I said get up, did I also say ley go of your bottom?" He mimics her voice.

She faintly shakes her head.

"Good. So take hold of your fucking arse, and get up!"

She seems to be half waiting for him to drag her wrists backwards again. He raises a hand like he's about to slap her with it, and she creeps her trembling fingers back around her backside. Not as far as he did though. He jerks on her wrists.

"Now get up."

She can't. She's too bent over the stool, too off balance. She tries pushing herself up with her stomach muscles but can't make it happen.

"You'd better get a fucking move on," he says.

She tries again. She has to bring her legs forward to either side of the stool. She manages to get a bit more upright.

"Over here," he says, pointing to a spot in front of the stool. She keeps her hands on her arse but she pushes herself more or less upright. He goes apeshit. "You stupid fucking cunt!" he rants. "Just how fucking stupid can one girl be? What have you just done?"

"I got up," she says in a relly high squeak, tears rolling down her cheeks.

"Get up off the fucking stool! Did I say stand up straight? You just destroyed the fucking pose!"

It registers with her. Her face dissolves in a muscle-quake of tears. But he's having none of it.

"Bend your stupid fucking body over like it was before," he says.

She creakily bends herself down.

"Now get your fucking arse over here!"

She's full-on crying now. She starts to back up away from the stool. She shuffles to the side, still holding her arse, and clunks forward in her massive ugly heels.

As she goes, he mimes to me, "Get the camera down in her face!"

"She's crying," I mime back.

He steps up and whispers, "I know, I'm fucking making her cry! Now get it down in her face! Move it around, fucking film her!"


"Shove it in her face!"

"You want me to film her crying?"

"She's got to do all this posing in front of cameras, hasn't she?"

"Yeah but…"

"Gloat," he hisses. "Mock her with it."

"Seriously?" I mumble. "She's looking kind of ugly."

"You think porn's meant to be pretty?"

"You want me to make her look ugly?"

He sighs, annoyed. "This is to teach her a lesson, innit? The lesson is how to act in front of a camera. So get some big wide angle close-ups of her ugly weeping mug and her big fucking arse!"

All this in a hiss. I'm a bit thrown by it all, feeling like I'm being given a hard-on and kicked in the nuts at the same time. I pin my eye to the camera. There's a manual zoom, I give it a fiddle. She's down in front of me, arse slightly towards me, bent over with her hands touching her bum. She's been given a few seconds break as Carlton hissed at me but all it's done is let it all sink in. I walk round to her front. I feel guilty, feel like a right bastard and I go down on one knee in front of her face. She looks up at me, looks at the camera, her mouth starts some serious trembling.

"You know what the word wider means, don't you?" Carlton asks her, dropping his head down close into my frame.

Her head jerks towards him. She tries to nod it.

"My punters say you don't," he says.

A little thin squeak comes out of her throat.

"You ain't pulling yourself very wide back here right now. So here's an instruction. Wider."

I take his cue and get up and walk round her with the camera so I can see her hands on her arse. She very faintly pulls on her cheeks with the faint grip she has.

"If you're going to pull wider, your hands will have to be closer," he says. And again, but this time slowly, he pulls on her wrists, one at a time, to pull them further around her bum cheeks. "Now," he says. "Wider."

She pulls a little. My camera picks up how much her hands are trembling.

Carlton lowers his head down next to hers. He shouts it. "Wider!"

Her hands suddenly jerk her cheeks apart. Not as wide as she can, but definitely wider. I quickly track round to her face again to try and catch her reaction.

Carlton steps behind her and looks at her arse. "You want to know what wider actually means?" he asks.

Her head trembles as she half-looks back.

"I asked you a fucking question. Do you want to know what wider actually means?" he shouts.

She nods her head. Her mouth and facial muscles are twitching in fright.

"I asked you a fucking question, give me a proper fucking answer!" Carlton shouts at her.

"Yes," she squeaks, with a face like a trapped animal, "please."

"This is wider," Carlton says.

I stand higher. Tilt the camera so I can see over her back but still catch her face. He grabs one wrist, grabs her arse cheek, tugs the cheek to the side, yanks the wrist forward, clamps her hand onto her arse cheek to hold it. He does the same with the second arm and second cheek, this time even more roughly. He pulls it away again. Tugs on her arse cheek to drag it wider. Picks the first hand off again. Pulls on that cheek, clamps the hand back down.

Her face just goes. It completely dissolves. Her knees buckle so she's down low looking ugly as fuck. She's snivelling, her lower lip is jerking about and there's snot dribbling from her nose. Out of the corner of my eye I see Carlton signing me to come round and look at her back end, and part of me is glad I have to. He's jammed her hands on so the holes between her legs are stretched tight as a bow string. The perinaeum between her cunt and her arse is sticking out, her cunt below it has been pulled open so the pink is clearly showing with a little gap opened in the middle of that. Her bumhole looks oblong, not round. Carlton moves his foot in and kicks one of her feet wider. Then he pushes on her back so her hips are forced lower.

"Pretty as a picture," he says. He bends his head to her again. "That's what wider means," he says. "A tog asks you for wider more'n once, and I find you've give him any less than this, I'll smack you so hard you'll end up in next week. Now then. He's got you in a pose. He's taking pictures…"

He waves me round to the front to shove my camera up in her face again.

"He hasn't told you to move. What do you do?"

Her face reacts to look away when I stick the camera just a foot away.

"What do you fucking do, Missy?"

She can barely summon speech. "Don't know…"

"I'll tell you. You fucking stay in it. You fucking stay in your pose. You let him take all the fucking pictures he wants. He don't tell you to move for a minute, two minutes, ten minutes - you don't fucking move! Now. You're too far forward. I want you back here, over by the stool. What do you do?"

"Um… um…"

"Jesus Christ. You walk backwards, you silly tart!"

She can hardly summon movement from her legs. When she does, she immediately puts her feet together and her hips rise up, though her hands try their best to keep hold of her arse.

Carlton just goes bonkers again. He says to me, "Just how fucking stupid is this twat you brought me?" To her he goes, "Did I tell you to lift your hips up? No I fucking did not!" He presses them lower with both of his hands. "And did I tell you to put your stupid fucking shoes together? Did I?"

She shakes her head in this quick, traumatised tremble. He forces one leg away from the first, then he pushes her second leg even wider than before.

"Now fucking get your arse back here!"

She's in a terrible state, she's flinching when he yells at her, her mouth is slitted open in down-mouth fear. She manages to force first one foot then the next to waddle backwards like a mad human duck. She looks like such an idiot.

"Feet wider," he tells her.

Her head flinches. "Can't," she says.

"I fucking tell you to do something, you fucking do it! Don't you never tell me you fucking can't!"

She forces one leg an inch wider to the side.

"Not far enough!"

She waggles the same foot even farther off centre.

"Yeah. Well," he says. "Well that's a halfway decent pose at last, looks like you're finally making some kind of a fucking effort. And now that you've deigned to show up to the shoot, I feel like taking a few pictures. Only what is it, paramount, that you've got to do?"

She twitches her head a short way towards him. "Sorry?"

"God you are stupid. I'm walking away for a mo. What mustn't you do?"

She looks really scared in case she gets the answer wrong. "Move?" she asks.

"At fucking last," he says. "At fucking last!"

He stands up. I stay where I am, pointing the camera at her for the moment. Then he signals that I should get up and join him.

Carlton's Studio

by Smackmagnet


"Keep it on her from over here," he says quietly when I've joined him. "Let's leave the silly cunt to stew in her own juices."

"Fucking hell though Carlton, it's all a bit close to the knuckle, this."

"Not close to it Gavin, it's past it," he says in his ultra-deep rumble. "Fucking hell, what a rush!"

"A rush?" I ask him.

"Don't pretend you ain't been enjoying yourself."

"Jesus, Carlton, my knob don't know whether it's coming or going. You know this is probably illegal?"

"No probably in it, matey. But that silly tart isn't gonna do nothing about it, she'll never go to the bill. Look at her, she's a quivering wreck."

"Fucking hell though Carlton. What, is this the first time you done this then?"

He looks at me. Tips his head. His eyes flicker over my face like he's sizing me up. "No mate," he says, "not nearly. Some of my favourite models went through the similar. Not on my books now, like. Well. One still is. Nearly past it, that one though, but she was the first one I ever had and I had a soft spot for her in the end. I moved two or three of the younger tarts off onto blokes in the other trade in the end though."

I frown. "What other trade?"

"You know. Prozzies. Know a couple of dodgy geezers who run 'em. Specialist. For their special clients. They fucking loved my girls, I tell you. Fuck me, they goes, you've got these trained up well, haven't you Carlton?"

"You do this with all your models?"

"Oh I wish. But no mate, course not, conditions got to be right, innit? Like with this little slag of yours. She owes you money big time. Got no bugger looking out for her. Ripe for the picking. I'm glad she's fucked up."

"Jesus, Carlton."

"And don't pretend you ain't, neither. She fucked up big enough so we can fuck her up as much as we fucking like. Everyone's happy."

"Except her."

"Well that's the whole point, innit? Goes without saying. You feeling sorry for her then? She's a fucking toy, Gavin, she's a Barbie with a heart beat. The city boys might even call her a commodity. You could have been stuffing your cock down her throat till she gagged on it all this time, only you let her run up your fucking debts instead! Well she ain't doing that to me, she'll earn me some fucking money. Well. Alright, earn you a bit an' all, since we both own a piece of her now. But first she'll have to learn to do what she's fucking told. By the time I've finished with her you'll be able to pop round her gaff if you're caught a bit short after the pub and take a good, long, satisfying piss up her arsehole. And she'll thank you for thinking she's as useful as a pissoir."

He's fiddling with his camera, doing things with batteries and flash cards and all that bollocks. My tenant is stuck halfway across the studio with her arse up towards us, desperately trying to stop her fingers from losing grip. Her legs are spread so wide and her knees are bent so low that it's costing her some real effort and she's huffing away and sweating.

"So what did you do to these other girls?" I ask him quietly, finding it hard to take my eyes off her.

"That's interesting," he goes. "Way you said that. Not what did I get 'em to do but what did I do to 'em. First one, this bird who's just about still with me, I needed a spanking model. Couple of blokes had asked me if I had any birds on my books who'd do it and I didn't. Only these blokes weren't after your usual model, they wanted some bird who wouldn't necessarily look like she was enjoying it. And my Jenna was this proper schoolgirl type who basically wasn't much cop at ordinary modelling. She was staring to get on my tits, she couldn't fucking smile on camera, always ended up looking like a scared rabbit. Made some enquiries and it turned out her mam had chucked her out and there wasn't no dad on the scene. Boyfriend had fucked off and dumped her an' all. So I got a mate to do a set with her then moan about how crap she was after. Once he'd fucked off I gave her what-for. Scared the crap out of her, told her she owed me, told her she had to do this spanking shoot or she'd be out on her ear. And she weren't making money nowhere else, so she had to.

"These blokes weren't so bad, they spanked her a bit and used a strap on her, but at the end of the shoot they hadn't really bruised her much or nothing. So I started advertising her for spanking. You'd be surprised just how many blokes are into that. A couple of my regulars took me up on it, one even came back and spanked her three different times. Then after a bit I got this enquiry from these blokes who wanted to do a really hard spanking shoot. Canes, paddles, that kind of shit. They give me a good price so I let 'em have the bird. Like, I was honest with 'em and everything, told 'em she was likely to cry and how they should just carry anyway on if she did. Basically I gave 'em a bit too much carte blanche. They was paying a packet though, so I figured, bird in the hand.

"Fucking hell though, her arse afterwards! Oh my God, what a state! And the backs of her thighs an' all, turned out they'd had her over this rig all tied up and they'd fucking thrashed her, sixty strokes with a full-force cane! She'd been screaming, apparently. And it took fucking weeks for the marks to go, so all that time she couldn't earn as an ordinary model. Only it turns out some spanking blokes aren't all that fussy about a few marks. And my regular, the one who did the three shoots with her, when I told him this story he asked if he could come back and do his second shoot with her where he could use the back of this hairbrush on her? And I reckoned it'd be two more weeks till she'd be mended from that big cane thrashing, so I let him. Even offered to be his cameraman. We got on alright, me and him, so he said yeah, brilliant. We even did a bit of a methody thing, basically before we started shooting I put the fear of Christ into her so she'd be scared shitless by the time he started walloping her arse with the hairbrush. And by now she'd basically do just about anything I told her, no questions, no complaints, not never. She was that scared, she'd just jump to it. So I told her he was going to do her with this hairbrush and she had to let him. And I told him he could do her for as long as he liked. If she started crying she could fucking cry till the cows came home for all I cared. So we set up a couple of static cameras and I did the hand held, and basically we just had a laugh all afternoon at her expense. We really started to take the piss, putting her in all these fucking stupid positions, then he'd whack her with this hairbrush, twat her legs with a belt, even smack her in the crotch with his hand. Fuck, what a fucking rush that day was!

"And he came back for the third shoot about four days after that. Basically he really wanted to do her again before the bruises healed. I mean fucking hell Gavin, after both of her previous shoots and only a week and a bit between them blokes thrashing her and him doing her with his hair brush, then another four days to his next shoot, her arse looked fucking black and blue. So in this second shoot we did, he whacked her in places she hadn't been done before, like on the fronts of her thighs and smacking her between her legs. And in between we made her do this really fucked-up glamour modelling, you know, pulling herself wide open in all kinds of fucked-up positions like your tart over there. And this bloke made this comment about how these pictures we'd got last time looked even filthier when it looked really obvious that the girl was scared shitless in 'em. So we fucking terrorised her all afternoon, you know, deliberately scared the living crap out of her. We had her shrieking a couple of times, Gavin, shrieking like a trapped animal.

"It's not the sort of thing you can sell. Authorities'd be down on you like a ton of bricks if pictures like that got tracked back to you, you'd be banged up and all. But the weird thing about this girl, the thing that made me hang on to her was, the afterwards. At the end of all this terrorising I told her it had all been so we could get some really different, interesting photos and she'd done really fucking well. And when I started to pet her a bit she clung on to me like I really was comforting her. It's pretty fucked up, but I think she's sort of a bit in love with me or summat now. Sounds wrong, dunnit? Pretty sure it isn't, though."

Carlton's Studio

by Smackmagnet


Carlton takes his big stills camera over towards my tenant and I follow him in with the video. He's still fiddling with the thing. "How many properties you got then?" he asks me.

"Only a couple mate," I go.

"What, are they all bedsits or what?"

"The one she's in is," I tell him. "Other one's flats."

"Same sort of area are they?"

"Not too far," I say.

As we're wittering on about not a lot, he puts his camera down on Missy's back like it's a table. He's pissing about with a lens only I can tell it's a ruse, he's just doing it to make her know he thinks she's a piece of furniture.

"Got any other tarts like this one giving you problems?"

"Not at the moment," I go.

"Why d'you have to be so mean?" Missy squeaks.

"Oh my God it talks," he says.

"I'm not an it!"

"Pay him off and make my pissed-off punters happy, maybe you can stop being an it," he says. Finally he picks up his camera body and sticks his new lens on it. "Now I want you over by that sofa. So what is it you've got to do?"

"Um… go over?"

"No… I got you in a pose I want, and I don't want to waste my fucking time by having to get you into it again. So what do you do?"

"I can't walk like this," she squeaks.

"Why can't you?"

"Please, no," she says.

"Are you fucking saying no to me, girl?" Right there, fast, he's right out with the loud threatening voice. She flinches. "You will fucking walk over like that, you silly fucking slag!"

At a visual prompt from Carlton I've shoved my camera right in her face again, widest angle it has. I can see the look on her, the shame, the knowledge that this will make her look so ridiculous. She starts to lumber forwards. She has to swing her whole body in an arc around the contacting foot, then do it the other way with the other foot. She looks so upset, so humiliated. The studio's pretty big and she has to waddle most of its length. I lift the camera up and to the side and look down on top of her. I start to get what Carlton was on about. Mock her with it. He's got her looking like a total tit already so I try to find angles that will make her look even worse.

"You know what you were just then?" Carlton asks her.

"What?" This said not like, "What did I look like," more like, "What are you talking about?"

"Jesus Christ, what a twat, Gavin," he says to me. Then to her, "You were fucking slow. If I tell you to do something I don't want you taking all afternoon."

Without warning, he tugs her hands off her arse, grabs her with one massive hand under her stomach and starts walloping the back of her thigh with his other hand. He's so big compared to her that he can easily lift her off the floor, and her feet end up leaving it while her hands drop down to touch it with their fingertips. She shrieks, then just as suddenly he's dropped her. She ends up thumping onto hands and knees.

"Get back in the pose," he tells her.

She doesn't move, she's too shocked. Carlton doesn't wait. He grabs her by the hips and lifts her up off the ground, turning her round and placing her back down on her big clumpy heels. Then he's dragging her wrists back, pulling her arse cheeks apart, clamping her hands on it. He kicks her feet much wider with his own, he presses her hips down. Another small kick and her feet are just as wide as they were before.

"Now, that's the pose I'm after, only I want you over there. And I don't want to wait all afternoon. So this time, make a fucking effort!"

Her knees are suddenly trembling. She's terrified, she's actually terrified.

"Get on with it!"

Carlton brings his hand up onto her crotch with a mighty slap. She squeals as she staggers forward, the stagger impelling her further on just to stay upright in her ridiculous position. She looks like a prehistoric lizard trying to walk on back legs which are way too wide, in no way suited for a stroll about town. Her feet thump the floor and a foot slips wider. She stumbles, barely jerking herself away from falling arse-over-tit. As a result her feet come closer together than Carlton wants, so he stoops and drags one ankle wider.

"Now get back over there again, you slack little tart."

Her head twitches behind her in confusion and she squeaks, "Why?"

He shouts. "Cause that's what I just fucking told you! Understand? When you're in here you do what you're fucking told! Asking fucking questions ain't doing what you're told, is it? Now get over the other side of the fucking room!"

Tears spring to her eyes again. This has to be, almost without peer, one of the worst episodes in her life. She has a face like a slapped arse. She sobs. She doesn't know whether to turn or to waddle backwards. She starts a lumbering turn, hesitates, turns the other way, starts again. I'm expecting Carlton to clip her round the backside again but instead he's checking me to see whether I'm getting this filthy evil on camera.

She's just about turned. I'm in front of her now, getting her through the viewfinder, her pathetic waggling, her massive ungainliness, her tears of shock and fright. She stumbles forwards like a wounded duck.

"Now then," Carlton says, sauntering slowly alongside her, all arrogance and pimp suave to her broken ugliness, "since there's a camera pointing at you, what should you be doing?" She's too frightened to answer. So Carlton rubs salt in her wounds with, "Wnen I tell you what to do, you ask me a fucking question and now I'm asking a question you shut your snivelling gob! There's a fucking camera pointing at you! What do people do when a camera points at them?"

She's staggered as far as she can go without bumping into me. She squeaks, "Don't know…"

"You fucking smile, you stupid cunt! Say fucking cheese!"

She can't, she just can't. It comes out like a mealy-mouthed, "Chiz."

He reaches over her and sticks one finger from each hand in the corners of her mouth, pulls it wide, slips his fingers out to tug the corners of her mouth upwards, then he's holding one cheek between the fingers of each hand and pulling her once pretty features every which way like a child pulling on a lump of putty.

"Smile, you cunt hole!" He shouts it straight in her ear.

There's snot running from her nose, her mascara is a sticky mess dribbled down her cheeks, also smudged by Carlton's beefy fingers. My camera is right in her face, fully wide angle to make her shock-wounded features distort even more. She tries. She has to try, he's a bull standing by ready to gore her with his words, kick her with his orders. The smile she can't fake is a cruel parody of the thing she's been told to produce.

He reaches under her torso and flicks a nipple with his fingers. My camera picks it up in the edges of its ultra-wide. When he speaks to me it's with a completely different tone, matey and joking. "What d'you think of its udders then, Gavin? Hanging down alright?"

He's taken me by surprise. All I can mutter is, "Yeah, alright I s'pose."

"Be a good milker this one if it ever gets up the duff. Fancy I should give it a go?"

"Yeah if you want."

"Tell us if the cunt stops smiling though, eh?"

"Yeah alright, Carlton." I don't fancy saying no to him neither.

He straddles her small frame with his big one from behind, reaches his docker's hoary hands underneath and pretends to milk her tits like a farmer milking a dairy cow. His hands squeeze harder than normal foreplay. "Is it still smiling?" he asks.

"Drooped a bit," I tell him.

"Say cheese, Ermentrude."

She's trying to look anywhere but at the camera, but its three inch lens is inches from her mug. "Cheese," she squeaks.

He's into his fake milking now, bringing his big hands one at a time up to the roots of her breasts, clamping them tight around, slowly dragging them down till finally he grips the teats and pulls them long and hard, left, right, left, right.

"Cheeese," she squeaks. Each time she looks past the lens I shift it slowly into her field of vision till she looks away again.

His voice is much quieter now. "There's a photographer who's booked you. He's all nervous and shy. He manages to mumble how he wants some mucky pose from you. What do you do?"

"I do his pose."

"He wants you to pull wider. What d'you do?"

"Pull as wide as I can."

"He's all fumbly and he's dropped his lens cap. What do you do?"

She has to think. "I don't move?"

"Very good. He wants a pose you don't think you can get into. What do you do?"

She's thinking again. "Try really really hard?"

"How long?"

"Till he tells me to stop?"

"He sticks his finger where he shouldn't. What do you do?"

Again she thinks. "I don't do anything?"

"He asks if you mind. What do you say?"

"I don't mind?"

"If there's a question about something, and you think one thing and your photographer thinks the other, who's right?"

"He is?"

"How often?"

"Um… always?"

"You are, I hesitate to say, learning. Now. You are a photographic model. You work for me and you're working to pay Gavin here his money back. When you're modelling for us, in here, the last thing you ever want to think about is your dignity. A dirty model like you ain't supposed to have no dignity. Comprendé?"

He slows his words down to emphasise them.

"In fact, the whole, the complete, the entire fucking point of you is, you ain't supposed to have no dignity. Not one fucking scrap. What you are here for is to let him, the photographer, get whatever manner of dirty pictures he's got in his head into his camera, for permanent, so he can wank over them when he gets home and have a fucking good laugh at the stupid cunt in the pictures at the same time. Only he's a nervous, creepy little fucker, pardon my French Gavin cause I don't mean you, and he don't ask for what he wants straight out. But if it's you who's his model, and I find out that he never got the pictures he wanted, I'm gonna kick you from one end of Peckham to the other."

She's gone rigid. She's just letting him do whatever he wants.

"So when he's in here, it's your job to make it absolutely stone cold fucking clear to him that he can ask for whatever he fucking well wants, and you ain't never gonna never say no to him. And the way you do that is, you never, ever refuse a pose. Not ever. Never. No matter what the fucking pose is. Plus you will never, ever break out of a pose till you are absolutely, one hundred percent fucking certain that he's telling you to move. If he asks can you do that wider, the only legitimate question you can ask him back is, am I pulling wide enough yet? If he asks, "do you mind if," your answer, only and always, is, "no, of course not, it's my job.""

She nods, very small, very miserable.

"People like you exist so people like him can make you do exactly what he wishes every other woman would do for him, but they won't cause they value their dignity far too much. You are basically in here so he can take your dignity, drop it down the toilet and take a long, messy, smelly shit in its mouth. You are here so he can make you look like the stupid, sad little slag that you unquestionably are. You are here so he can get a hard-on and laugh himself stupid at you at one and the same time. You are here so he can degrade you. Do you understand? Your sole fucking function in life, from now on until you've paid my man here back, is to let sad wankers wiv a camera take the fucking piss out of you, mock you with their cameras and degrade the absolute crap out of you. If you are in a pose and you think you might look even the slightest little bit elegant, then you're doing your job completely fucking wrong. You're here so he can picture you looking like the cheapest slag he's ever imagined. You are a cunt, you are an arsehole, in the very literal sense that these are the parts of your body, your personality, your fucking soul that he wants to interact with, and the fact that you've got a head with a brain in it is entirely incidental. You are a cunt and an arsehole on legs. You are here to be turned into a stupid twat."


"Alright gentlemen, and welcome. This is Missy, your spanking model for today. And you are paying a fair old sum today gents, so just to make things clear here, this young lady is yours for the day and you are free to use her exactly as we have discussed. And I want to make it perfectly clear from the off that you're not to take no shit off her. As long as you're paying for her, she does what you tell her. She's on camera, you tell her to do summink, it's her job to fucking do it. She's off camera, you tell her to do something… likewise, it's her job to fucking do it. It's her job to be a model, but it's also her job to be submissive.

"Now, as you can see to look at her, she is not the kind of submissive who looks like she's relishing her role. She is, I will warn you, quite likely to cry. Now I understand that you gentlemen might not be averse to that. But what I want to reconfirm here is, if she starts crying, it is not a cue for you to stop filming. So far as I'm concerned, if you want to make her cry then crying is one of her jobs. In other words, you don't need to treat her with kid gloves, there's no need to pander to her or feel sorry for her. She starts crying, you have my full permission to start slapping her harder. You want to call her names, you call her any fucking names you want.

"That's it, that's the preamble. Have a fun-filled afternoon one and all!"

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