Rayven’s words, as she went through a huge closet about the size of my entire apartment, perfectly foreshadowed the timbre of life’s new tangent.

“You’re an Esteel model, now, so the regular rules no longer apply.”

The contract was signed; an additional clause, hastily scrawled in pen, dictated that I was to wear the mask at all times. My trans companion told me that it was to hype up the mystique.

“These are perfect for you.” She held up a thin, white cotton tube top with dark crimson splotches all over it, reminding me of blood splatter, and a long, black leather skirt.

The top was so thin that the light from the room shone through it. The skirt was a piece of art to my eyes. It was a broad belt without a buckle, lacing up on one side. The way the rainbow-haired waif held it, it was obvious that it was meant to be worn at an angle. The lace-up side rode higher than the opposite side, meant to go over the top of one hip but descending to the top of the thigh on the other. The skirt portion was merely two, tapered banners of leather, comprised of multiple pieces and stitched in an almost patchwork design. They hung from the front and back of the belt, with no side pieces, leaving my legs completely exposed.

“What do I wear under it?”

She laughed and stroked my pubes. “Nothing. Models are basically forbidden undergarments to enhance their sexiness. The goal is to show off the clothes with your sensuality. Think of it as being more naked than naked; that’s the goal.”

High, stiletto heels, nothing more than platforms that laced up over my calves, finished the ensemble. I looked fuckable, scandalous, and nuder than if I’d not been wearing anything.

“No good,” Rayven observed, “take it off.”

I shrugged and disrobed, thinking that she was going to grab me something else to wear. Instead, she bent over, rummaging through a huge, plastic chest, her effeminate ass, so shapely and arousing, wiggling. Holding a makeup airbrush aloft, Rayven smiled, tossing her speckled white hair around.

“Hold your right arm out to the side and stand still.”

I watched, shivering slightly at the coldness of the flow, as she painted a mossy green stripe down my right arm. Then down my side, all the way to my ankle.

“Matches your eyes. Now, get dressed again.”

I did, listening to her patter about the proper attitude, how I need to wow everyone, and so on. Nodding with approval, she grabbed what I had assumed was a white backdrop for pictures; it was a heavy, off-white, hooded cloak fading to a steely gray toward the bottom. “Put this on over the clothes, cowl up to hide your face, and don’t let anyone see your body until Esteel announces you. Remember: lust, passion, and a horny aura.”

“I don’t know if I can do this. I’m so nervous.”

Reaching into her designer purse, she pulled out a glass vial of some sort of makeup. An angry bee was depicted on the bottle. “We’ll take care of that.”

Unscrewing the stopper, she pulled out the application wand and thrust it between the folds of the hefty cloak and under the leather loincloth. Her deft fingers quickly found my lit, stroked it to attention, then applied the cool, wet liquid. I gasped in shock; my clit immediately began tingling, then throbbing, finally feeling like it was being stung.

“It’s called ‘Bee Sting’ and is used as a lip plumper. The discomfort will go away in a minute, then your clit will be tingling for hours. That will give you the edge you need.”

She was correct. At first, I had to hold onto Esteel’s trans assistant to stay upright, but the agony slowly gave way to an arousing stimulation very much like a vibrator buzzing on my clit.

“Now you’re ready. Let’s go introduce you to the world.”

Stopping to deeply inhale some herbal relaxation, I walked in a daze down the several flights of stairs to the small crowd of artists, fashion industry people, and others gathered for the big announcement.”

“I didn’t want a worn-out, known face for Hardcore Fashion,” Esteel was droning. “Alucard’s clothing is primal, passionate, and instinctively natural…”

I climbed onto the small stage, feeling the eyes of everyone upon me. The ‘Bee Sting’ was stimulating my pussy to the point that I had to be conscious of my physical reactions, moans almost escaping my lips.

“...and mysterious. With that in mind, we scoured the globe and settled on a real woman, a sensual goddess filled with passion and mystery, just like hardcore Fashion.”

“The man beside Esteel is Alucard,” Rayven whispered into my ear. “Now walk up to the other side, open the robe, first, when he announces you, then throw it off you.”

My new boss continued. “So, now, with much pride and pleasure, I present to you, the newest, hottest fashion modeling sensation, Domino!”

Sashaying up, wiggling my hips with each step, I approached the podium, standing off to one side. The hushed crowd gasped as I opened the cloak, my face still hidden. Uproarious applause and an endless barrage of questions shouted by the media erupted as camera bulbs flashed, blinding me. Striking a seductive, feline pose, I threw back the hood, baring my fiery hair, smiling face, and the lacy mask.

“Genius,” some of them cried. The cacophony from the huddled crowd was deafening.

“No,” Alucard said into the gathered microphones, “no questions. The unveiling will be in one week at the Gallery Wicked. Be there, or be left in the dust.”

“Domino, Domino,” they shouted. “Why the mask, are you disfigured?” “What other modeling have you done?” “Can we ask you a few questions?”

I was rushed off the tiny stage, through the throng of people, and into a limo. The other three piled in as the driver peeled away. 

”Did you see that?” Esteel beamed. “Those fucking morons ate you up.”

“Where are we going,” I asked.

“Planning meeting.”

Rayven laughed at his comment. “Get ready for the brave, new world,” she said.

The limousine drove halfway across the city, the setting sun painting the interior in reds and oranges. A Conversation about plans, certain shots Esteel wanted, and certain garments Alucard wanted to be showcased was flying about. I sat in an ethereal daze, hardly speaking, my mind awash in uncertainty and shock. Finally, we reached our destination, Esteel's home studio and home. It was an old, converted warehouse. Through the black-painted windows, I could make out pulsing lights and the sound of music on the upper floor.

“You gentlemen go ahead,” Rayven told them, patting my exposed thigh. “Time for some girl talk.”

They got out, talking and laughing, and I just sat there, my stomach a mass of quivering nerves.

“Here,” she said to me. “You’re a fucking mess, girl. Take these if you want. They’ll calm your nerves but make you insatiably horny. You’ll need both if you want to survive ‘the meeting.’”

I quaffed two of the sweet-tasting, blue capsules, downing them with champagne. “What are they?”

“Aphrodisiacs mixed with molly. Nothing you haven’t done, before, I’m sure.” I nodded in acquiescence rather than admit I hadn’t. “Take her around the block a few times, please,” she told the limo driver, “then drop her off back here when she’s ready.”

She turned to me. “Remember, the rules no longer apply. It’s expected of you to be wild, so have fun, don’t take any shit, and go crazy.”

“Meeting, huh?” I tried to laugh as she closed the door and the limousine pulled away.

I rode in the back, trying to breathe myself into relaxation. The buzzing sensation on my clit had subsided, and I just mulled over the day’s events. Going from a job that barely paid my rent to just enough to cover my mother’s surgery in the span of a few hours had me confused, excited, and feeling lost. However, due to the snail’s pace of city traffic, by the third time around the block, I was feeling extremely aroused and without a care in the world.

“I’m good,” I told the driver, only just then noting that my hand was idly caressing my inner thigh.

Feeling euphoric and filled with energy, I jumped out of the limo and sprinted to the rusted, steel door. The armed doorman nodded to me and opened it for me to enter. “Upstairs, Domino,” he smiled.

There was no need for him to tell me that. The metal mesh stairs, more than ten feet wide, were lined on either side with the denizens of sin. People dressed for a rave lined either side, intermittently, conducting various acts of recreation and depravity. They smiled at me as I ascended. Women were making out with each other, bare breasts being suckled or fondled. People were drinking and chatting, openly doing drugs. It was an erotic display of every vice imaginable and then some.

When I reached the top, I realized that the preview on the stairs was a tame, quiet glimpse of what lay inside. My jaw dropped, and I stood there, stunned as my eyes drank in the wild, insane, and carnal scenes before me. I knew that the industry in general, Esteel in specific, was infamous for its debauchery, but I wouldn't have ever envisioned anything like the sight I beheld.

The main room was huge and cavernous with multiple pillars at regular intervals. Near the entrance, a nude woman was chained to a pillar, her hair long and black on one side, cut to stubble on the other. She screamed in passion as a man in a tuxedo flogged her with a cat-o-nine-tails, a woman kneeling before her, buzzing her glistening cunt with a huge vibrator. Another person, androgynous, held a tipped, lit candle over her breasts, dripping red wax on her pale breasts.

To my left was a long, wooden refreshment table. Alcohol of every conceivable type was amassed at one end, various gourmet foodstuffs beside that. The far end held enough recreational substances to make a DEA agent’s career. Bizarrely-clad people of all types and shapes milled about, one snorting a white powder off a slutty blond’s ass, another snorting off of a large, erect cock. In the middle of the long table, a redhead woman, dressed like a witch, laid back with her legs hanging spread, over the edge of the table. She alternated between fucking herself with various objects on the table and letting others lick her or eat their hors d'oeuvres from her dripping pussy.

On the far wall, across from me, was a huge painting of Judy Garland, done in vibrant colors in halftone dots. It was the iconic Wizard of Oz, Toto in the basket in front of her. However, a cartoon speech balloon was plastered overtop Toto's peeking head, making him speak, “I miss the rain down in Africa.”

On a display pillar, just to the right of the doorway, was an oversized Campbell’s soup can. A pair of dark-framed glasses were taped to it, a bowl-cut, blond wig on top of the can. The placard read, “Andy.” All the while, music from The Donnas blared out, just loud enough to drown out the clamor of the hundred or so avant-garde guests.

In the center of the massive chamber, a pile of nude bodies writhed on the floor. Men and women were sucking and fucking each other with wild abandon. In their midst, a single, muscular man wearing a pearl necklace and whore-red lipstick stood. Wearing a nun’s coif. He stroked his below-average cock with one hand, an open book, the Cat in the Hat, in the other, which he read aloud, in a bassoon voice.

As if I were in a dream, my body pulsing in heat, I slowly walked the perimeter, taking in the glorious sights of hedonism.

“You stole my job, you fucking whore,” a venom-filled voice shrieked. Her hand landed on my shoulder, spinning me around.”

“Hello, Clarice. It’s good to see you again,” I chortled. “Try to not be such a cunt, next time. No hard feelings?”

“Hmmph!” she stormed off, spewing obscenities.

Feeling like a stunned Alice in an erotic wonderland, I saw an open door that lead to a much smaller, quieter room. I didn’t know anybody there, had no clue how to act, and the dripping heat of my arousal was getting to me. I retreated into hiding in the small room, a comfy but threadbare couch perfect for me to perch on while I collected my thoughts.

I’d barely let out a sigh when Esteel burst into the room. With him, his arm around the other’s waist, was a long-haired, skinny man. “Domino,” he shouted. “Good, we need to talk about the shoot.”

“Okay, wha….” words stopped forming as my mouth froze in its open position. Esteel peeled off his pants, his cock dangling, then his shirt. He was wiry, with only hints of muscle under his taut flesh. As he turned to sit next to me, I noticed that his back was covered in a tattoo of Marilyn Monroe’s face.

“Meet my boyfriend, Raoul,” he said. Esteel slumped on the couch beside me, pulling Raoul’s head to his cock. “Suck it.”

He turned to me, nonchalantly, as if he wasn’t fucking his lover’s mouth. “Here’s what I have in mind,” he began. His hips began thrusting toward his boyfriend’s mouth. “I’m going to face fuck you and then let you fuck me with your sweet ass.”

“I-I thought you were gay?”

“Him, not you. Work hard, play hard. I’m always working. Suck it deeper, you little man-whore.”

“Got it, sorry.”

“Shocked? Good. We thrive on shock value, and that’s exactly what I wanted to talk about. You’re already a hit, but if the shoot doesn’t meet the hype, you’ll never work again.”

“I don’t care about that, I just…”

“Now, you have me hard, Raoul. Drop your drawers and lower your ass on my cock.”

“Do I need to leave you two in peace?”

“No, the shoot. Your ass is perfect and your body type morphs depending on the light and angle. All I need you to do is do exactly what I say, when I say it, without question.”

His swarthy complected boyfriend removed his boy shorts and spit on his hands, massaging his saliva onto his back door. Squealing and moaning, he roughly backed onto Esteel’s hard cock and eased it in.

“Oh, that’s so good,” he exclaimed. “Fill me with your seed, lover.”

“Shut the fuck up and fuck me. I’m working.” He turned to me, obviously loving the feeling of fucking Raoul in the ass.

My head was reeling, and my body responded, instinctively. Of their own accord, my legs spread, and my hand wandered under the loincloth-like skirt, playing in my wetness.

“I’m not your slave,” I panted as I watched his cock bury itself into the other man’s ass, the both of them grunting. “You don’t own me.”

“Not…like that,” Esteel moaned out. “Be your same attitude-ridden self, especially, um, feels so fucking good, with me. I mean, umm, getting close, when we’re shooting.”

“Oh fuck,” I moaned. My fingers were frantically flying over my clit as I watched the photographer fuck his boyfriend. “So hot.”

Conversation ceased as he grabbed Raoul by the hips and slid off the couch, landing on his knees. Moving up into a hunched crouch, his lover on all fours, he bent over the Latino man and reached around his torso. Savagely fucking him, the both of them screaming in lust, his hands groped for Raoul’s cock and began vigorously pumping it.

“Fuck my ass; fuck my ass,” he was chanting over and over.

I plunged two fingers inside my dripping cunt as I watched, enthralled at the primal, beastly display of manly desire. Moaning and timidly speaking words of encouragement, I almost orgasmed when Esteel’s boyfriend shot his wad all over the photographer's hands.

“Now, turn around and let me shoot it in your face,” Esteel commanded.

They shifted, sweaty and moaning, all grunts and groans. The foppish artist stroked his cock so hard that his hand was a blur. “Take my cum like a good fuck toy,” he screamed as his cock erupted with geysers of cum. Shot after shot spewed onto Raoul’s face, coating his lips, landing on his hair, and splattering on his cheeks.

“I need a towel,” he laughed when they were done. The two of them were cuddling, panting.

“No, you don’t,” Esteel instructed. “Go out there and find somebody to lick it off of you while I watch.”

“You’re such a cunt,” he laughed. “So fucking dirty.”

Esteel turned to me, pulling his tights over his dirty, flaccid cock. “Good chat?” he didn’t wait for a reply. “Just remember, in front of the camera, I own you. Wheels up at 7:30. Have fun.”

“This is the big meeting?”

“Work hard, play harder! Oh, and keep that mask on, no matter what.”

They left, screaming at the party-goers in their drug-fueled ecstasy. I just sat there, absorbing the scene that had unfolded while he was instructing me to follow his commands. Pulling the tube top down, my hard, sensitive nipples tingling with the beat of the music, I continued fingering myself. My tits are too small for me to suck my nipples, but the cool air on my bare breasts was heavenly. I stared at the puddle of cum on the floor, fingering myself to orgasm, and screaming my head off.

My release only made the fire in my core burn hotter. I was now thoroughly over being shy and incredibly horny. Luckily for me, there was an orgy in progress in the next room.

To Be Continued...