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  “Then it is settled,” said Marie-Mathilde very quietly, her own heart still beating loudly in her chest, blood pounding like African drums in her ears. “I belong to you. Do with me what you will.”

  But Celeste shook her pretty little head. “No, Cherie,” she whispered, “we belong to each other. Now, kiss me again and make me cum with your long cool fingers before we call on Zee to poke and prod and make us perform for the pleasure of his camera.”

  Chapter 3

  Both girls were unashamedly naked when Zee entered the room, Celeste lying sprawled on the chez like a wanton, Marie-Mathilde sitting primly on the edge of it like a schoolboy waiting for a disciplinary interview with his headmaster.

  “So, what, you have been pleasuring each other in my time?” the old queen fussed, bustling around the room like a disgruntled mother hen, “do I now pay for you enjoy yourself?”

  Celeste laughed. “You do not pay us at all, Zee, merely feed us and clothe us in fine brocades and silks. But while you have been gorging yourself on pastries and chocolat we have been eating altogether more delicious confections, so we are equal now, no?”

  Zee snorted and changed the subject, turning his attention to Marie-Mathilde. “And you, new girl, are you also to bite the hand that feeds you and speak to me with disrespect and derision the way that this ungrateful guttersnipe does?”

  “Why non, Monsieur,” said Marie-Mathilde, her eyes modestly downcast though she sat naked in front of him, “I will always obey you and treat you with respect.”

  “God girl, good girl,” muttered Zee, slightly mollified, “then come, stand up and let me see your body and reassure myself that you will be worth all the money that I shall now have to spend on you.”

  “Her pussy is like fresh lobster, Zee,” Celeste whispered mockingly as Marie-Mathilde stood up to allow the old man’s inspection, “salty and sweet. Much nicer than all that dirty boy’s cock you like to suck.”

  “Be quiet, Guttersnipe,” Zee scolded, then he let out a breath as he gazed upon Marie-Mathilde’s naked body and was lost.

  Oh la, la. This girl was his best investment yet. Her face was austere but beautiful, her body long and straight like an ivory tusk, flawless skin, no breasts, taut belly and, oh my Lord, look at that cunt, a veritable beast with a huge pronounced pudenda and thick red maiden hair like an animal’s. She was making even him want to get stiff, no wonder Celeste was so in love.

  “Do I please you, Monsieur?” Marie-Mathilde asked in a small fearful voice and Celeste laughed.

  “Oh, do not worry, Cherie, he is more than pleased,” she laughed. “Even now, he is calculating how much money you will make for him.”

  Zee pulled himself together. “You are most excellent, child, but may I look more closely at you?”

  Marie-Mathilde shrugged. “I am naked, Monsieur, I cannot be more shameful than that, so you may look all you want at whatever you want.”

  Zee mopped his face with his large silk handkerchief as he felt his own large cock start to swell. They say that fat men often have small members, but this was untrue of him, and his cock, when fully aroused, would turn many a young and virile man green with envy. And it seemed that this pale and boyish girl was having the desired effect on his undercarriage.

  “Turn,” was all he managed to say.

  Marie-Mathilde raised her eyebrows but said nothing and obligingly turned her back to him, her tight little butt high and white, her long thin legs slightly parted. And her ass was magnificent. Small and firm like a boy’s but with all the pert softness of a young girl. She would be quite irresistible once he had fitted her out with the strap-on dildo, mouth-wateringly sexy, in fact.

  Zee paused for a moment to visualise the girl as he would photograph her, with her long white naked body and shock of thick pubic hair with the huge erect cock sticking out from her like an outcrop and felt his own member start to rise rapidly. Oh merde, he was up, his monstrous cock straining against the restraints of his clothing.

  Celeste was watching him like a cat from the chez, an amused smile on her pretty face. “I think Monsieur is liking your sweet little behind, Marie-Mathilde,” she teased, “and I mean liking it in the way that he likes all those petits garçons he finds in the back streets at night. Come, be kind to him, Cherie, spread your legs and bend for him so that he may gaze upon your little pink starfish and pleasure himself...”

  Marie-Mathilde blushed scarlet but obliged, parting her long thin legs and leaning forward as if she were about to be punished, knowing that her employer was seeing all her most intimate parts and strangely aroused by the sensation of it.

  Zee let out a groan in spite of himself and Celeste laughed. “I think I should be jealous, Cherie, for I have been showing this man everything I possess for many years without a so much as a twinge, but he takes one look at your derriere and his famous member is up like a ramrod. Come, Zee, let us see the fruits’ of Marie-Mathilde’s sweet little bung-hole, show us that legendary cock of yours erect in all its glory.”

  Zee tried to protest but knew that he was beaten. Years ago there had been a flaxen-haired German boy called Gustav with skin as while as the February snow who had bled him dry, always asking for fine clothes and gifts of increasing value before he would roll over and offer up his milky white ass to Zee’s desire, and this girl seemed to be having the same effect on him. He would not mount her, of course, of that he was certain, for he was too shrewd a businessman to compromise his asset, but he knew that if he did not relieve himself here and now he would be ragged with frustration and useless for the rest of the day.

  “Not one word of this leaves this room...” he breathed, unfastening his clothing.

  Celeste laughed. “Our lips are sealed, Monsieur,” she said, no longer mocking but curious and not a little aroused at the sight of her lover naked and bent over, her tight ass inciting her employer’s monster member.

  Zee had freed it by now and even Celeste was spellbound as she watched him lick his fingers and gently move the tight hood up and down over the huge swollen head. “Why, Zee,” Celeste breathed, “you waste this giant on gutter urchins when every fashionable women of Paris would gladly pay to be pleasured by such a work of art.”

  Zee grunted, already close to cumming. “It does not usually perform like this for the opposite sex, Cher,” he breathed, “Marie-Mathilde is something of a first.”

  “Did I not tell you she would be perfect?” Celeste teased, walking naked across the studio and taking Marie-Mathilde in her arms while she looked over her shoulder and took a closer look at Zee’s cock, “can you not see her with the big dildo strapped on and fucking me up my tight little ass? I have never permitted that before, but today I will let her corn-hole me for your pictures...”

  It was the tipping point for the old man and, mentally seeing Marie-Mathilde as a boy up stiff and erect pushing into Celeste’s forbidden hole, his orgasm suddenly shot out of him, his big cock jerking like a chicken with its throat cut as he thrust impotently into the empty air, his hot and salty semen splashing onto the bare floorboards and all over Marie-Mathilde’s trembling white ass and down her shaky legs.

  “Now that,” sighed Celeste, squeezing her lover’s very moist pussy, “was a welcoming party to be proud of. Come, Zee, compose yourself, Marie-Mathilde is willing to become a boy for you. Send for the hairdresser and let us get to work, I think I want to be fucked.”

  At Coney Island

  Chapter 1

  Connie and Clara met on the subway, both going out to see the same flea-bitten apartment at Coney Island. They talked a bit on the way, found that they were both mad about the talkies and desperate to go to Hollywood, and, by the time they’d stepped back up into the daylight, had become firm friends and resolved to share the meagre flat, which they did.

  Connie was twenty-two and Clara just nineteen. The former from a farm in Al
abama; the latter a runaway from unsympathetic Baptist parents in the Bible Belt. Pretty girls in their bright summer dresses, they quickly found work along the boardwalk selling hotdogs, stole their meals from their employers and spent all their meagre wages on new clothes and tickets to the movies. And generally had a whale of a time.

  Until the rent fell due.

  “What are we going to do, Connie?” Clara wailed, after their landlady had given them just two days to find the thirty dollars that they owed, “I can’t go back home, I love it here.”

  Connie thought for a long moment, running a thoughtful hand through her dark Marcel-waved hair. “There might be a way...” she said finally.

  “What?” Clara gasped, ready to try anything.

  “Well, you know Clive the beach photographer from De Carlo’s Photo Mart?”

  Clara shuddered. “Creepy Clive? Yes.”

  “Well, he wants to be a movie director and he’s asked me if we’d be in his first film...”

  “A film?”

  “Don’t get excited. It’s not a proper film, you know, like at the Astoria. More one like they show in the little nickelodeons in the side streets.”

  Clara was horrified. “You mean a stag movie?”

  Connie nodded. “Nothing hard. He said it would just be us. And he’d pay us twenty-five dollars each. Just imagine it, Clara, twenty-five dollars for an hour’s work. That’s more than we earn in a week.”

  Clara shook her head but was swithering. “You’d be with me the whole time?”

  “The whole time.”

  “And we wouldn’t have to do... things with men?”

  Connie shook her head.

  “Alright,” Clara said with a small sigh, “we’re clean out of options, anyway. Let’s do it.”

  ***

  Clive took them both to the photo booth at De Carlo’s.

  “This is where you’re shooting the movie?” Clara said, aghast.

  Clive laughed unpleasantly as he ran an oily hand through his Brilliantined blue-black hair. “Where d’ya find this one, Connie? ‘Course it’s not the movie, Sweetcakes, I just need to do a little screen test. See if you look as good in flat black and white as you do in the flesh. Come on, I ain’t got all day. Pile in!”

  “Together?” Connie said, raising her eyebrows.

  “Sure, no sense in wasting a dime, is there? Get on in.”

  ***

  Five minutes later the pictures were ready, damp and slightly bendy at the edges, but definitely them. Clara stared at the monochrome strip of likenesses over Clive’s shoulder, amazed at the two smiling girls who looked happily back out at her.

  “Gee, Connie,” she whispered to her friend, “I ain’t never had my picture took before.”

  “Get used to it, Babe,” Clive replied. “You two are going to make a whole heap of money. OK, you both look great, so green light. We’ll use the studio in the Photo Mart once De Carlo’s gone home for the day. You’ll like it there, it’s cool and clean. Be here for nine o’clock and wear your best underwear. And classy stuff, girls. No bloomers or nuttin’. You got me?”

  The girls nodded. “And it’s cash on the night?” Connie confirmed.

  Clive winked. “You got my word, Baby,” he said with his oily smile, then added in a low voice. “Oh, and shave, will ya? I don’t want to see no body hair.”

  ***

  “I don’t know about this, Connie,” Clara said, “I really don’t.”

  “It’ll be fine, trust me,” her friend reassured, “come on, I’ll go first.”

  Clara still looked undecided but Connie gave her arm a quick squeeze. “Just think, if we like this we’ll earn twenty-five dollars a week, or even more, and we won’t ever have to go home again. Hell, we can even quit serving hotdogs to drunk sailors. Come on, Hon, I’m game if you are.”

  Clara shrugged. “Oh alright, what do you want me to do?”

  “Go get the scissors,” Connie whispered as she took off her dress.

  ***

  Connie sat on the side of her bed, naked save for the minuscule cream silk brassiere that barely covered her tiny bee-stung breasts. Her short-cropped hair was a deep chestnut brown, almost black, and with her dark red lips and white skin she looked like the picture of Snow White that Clara had pinned on the wall above her bed alongside Tyrone Power and Clarke Gable. Except, of course, that Snow White wasn’t sitting there nearly nude.

  Clara took a deep breath and clicked the small scissors in her hand. “OK, here goes nuttin’,” she said with a nervous laugh and started to snip.

  “Here, kneel down,” Connie whispered, opening her legs for her friend, “cut it good and short so that the razor won’t nic.”

  “This is kinda embarrassing,” Clara said, running her fingers through Connie’s thick bush and snipping.

  “It’s just like being at the beauty salon,” Connie laughed, a little nervously, liking the feel of Clara’s cool fingers in her pussy hair and the chill of the scissor blades.

  “This ain’t the hair they usually cut at the beauty salon,” Clara retorted, her face still pink.

  “Well, not publicly,” Connie giggled, “but I’ve heard that Jean Harlow gets hers done like this every week.”

  “No kidding,” Clara whistled, “wow, imagine, some girl gets this close to Jean Harlow’s pussy once a week. Wow!”

  “I think some guys get this close to her pussy on a regular basis,” Connie said with a dirty laugh, “closer, even!”

  Clara blushed again. “The things you say, Connie. Now, is that short enough to shave?”

  Connie slid an exploratory hand down and felt her own partially denuded cunt. “Not bad, but you’ve left it long down below.”

  “I didn’t like to touch you, you know, right down there,” Clara said in a small voice.

  “It’s OK,” her friend whispered, “tug me about if you need to, just get it clean.”

  Clara gulped and pulled Connie’s pussy up tight with one trembling hand, and began snipping skilfully along her slit and then around all the lower nooks and crannies.

  “That’s nice,” Connie whispered, “but do my crack too, pull me open.”

  Clara looked up at her questioningly and Connie laughed.

  “You know, like boys do to you. Pull my slit open so you can trim me properly.”

  “Connie!”

  “Well, it’s what they do, ain’t it? Go on, it’s OK.”

  Clara took a deep breath and then ran her hand through the short-cropped fur that still lingered on Connie’s pussy before slipping two fingers down and gently parting her slit.

  “That’s it,” Connie whispered, letting out a contented sigh as the cool blades of the tiny scissors snipped away like little birds peck, peck pecking at her pussy, “make me really bare and then shave me smooth.”

  Clara took a deep breath. “There’s not much hot water. You wanna trim my bush too, then we can shave each other at the same time?”

  ***

  Clara still wore the under things her mother had bought for her back at home, and she always blushed when Connie saw her in the long cotton pants and knitted vest top. So it was no surprise that she was scarlet as she stood before her friend in just her combinations, her legs goose-pimpled and her nipples standing up taut under the fabric of her undershirt.

  “It’s OK, Honey,” Connie whispered encouragingly, “it’s only me.”

  Clara nodded, and then took a deep breath and slid her knee-length underpants to the floor.

  She was a small girl, an inch or two shorter than her friend but with pearly pink skin and a plump but pert little butt, and, when she turned face on, Connie let out a low whistle.

  “Gee, Sweetie, you’re a real blonde. I’ve never seen a gal who was so platinum-white right dow
n to her pussy.”

  Carla blushed yet again. “You’re the first person who’s ever seen my pussy,” she said in a small voice.

  “Really? You never went swimming with your girlfriends? Used to be about a dozen of us went to the old pond at Randsom’s Creek every day in summer. I used to just lie there and look at pussy all day.”

  Clara laughed. “That’s why I ran away.”

  “Because you wanted to look at pussy?”

  “No, because I wanted to do ordinary stuff like go swimming with my girlfriends being without being told what a sinner I was.”

  “Well, I am honoured,” Connie said, sitting her friend on the bed and parting her legs, “to be the first one to view this fine pussy and prepare it for its long career turning men into gaping fools.”

  Clara shivered as her friend had done as the cool scissor blades quickly denuded her thick white-blonde snatch, Connie’s skilful fingers tugging her plump little pussy this way and that. She was aware that she was enjoying this and that her slit was sopping wet, but she had smelt the arousal on Connie’s cunt as she’d trimmed her, and knew that she wasn’t alone.

  “But you’ve done it with boys, right?” Connie suddenly asked, her busy scissors flying perilously near to Clara’s stiff little clit.

  The other nodded. “One or two. In the dark, though, and dressed, not naked like this.”

  Connie laughed mischievously. “But we’re not naked yet, are we.”

  Clara shook her head. “We will be tomorrow.”

  Connie nodded. “You want to practice?”

  “Yes,” Clara whispered, so low it was almost imperceptible, but Connie heard.

  “You first this time.”

  Clara gulped then, after hesitating for a long moment, pulled her chemise top slowly off, her large breasts with their big aroused nipples bouncing into freedom, slightly shivery and aching to be kissed. “Now you,” she said to Connie, who was staring at the spectacle of her friend unashamedly naked with her plump pink pussy practically denuded and her slit all vulnerable and exposed.