The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

WANTED… ‘FEMALE’

Chapter 1

CHICAGO BUGLE DAILY NEWS

...“WANTED”...

‘FEMALE’

FOR MODELLING

FOR OIL PAINTING

MUST HAVE PATIENCE.

MUST HAVE FREE TIME

PH.1878-35762

That’s what the add in the paper read. She read it again. In fact, she went on to read that add several more times during the course of her busy day. She read it before breakfast, after breakfast, at lunchtime, at afternoon teatime. And she read it when she arrived home from work while sipping a hot coffee, again after dinner. Lastly, she read it before going to bed for the night. As her eyes closed her thoughts wondered what it would be like to be a painter’s model. She hadn’t called. She’d meant to, but she hadn’t. She’d been exhausted. And then she was asleep.

She’d had a busy day going from one modeling shoot to the next. There never seemed to be enough time to change between catwalks and photo shoots without rushing, and something was still always out of place, no matter how careful she or her dressers had been. It was a hectic life.

The life of a magazine glossy glamour model. It was one she’d been thinking about giving away from the sheer exhaustion it entailed each day, not to mention the incredibly long hours and thenot-too-great pay, when she ‘did’ get paid. Sometimes it seemed to her to be like extracting blood from a stone. Many times she’d practically had to beg her agent, just to get her the pay due to her from past work done for slow payers.

On several occasions she’d also had to humiliate herself and ask her agent for an advance, simply so she could pay her share of the rent on the luxury apartment she shared with two other glamour models, and to buy food and the basic women’s necessities.

And now she slept deeply. She’d had a very busy day, as they all seemed to be. And sleep was the one thing that Annie Summers valued most, even more than collecting her overdue paychecks. Sleep was like money in the bank, and to her, there never seemed to be enough of it.

When the alarm went off aggressively at five in the morning Annie instinctively reached out and shut it off. Groggily she dragged herself out of bed and headed for the shower. That usually brought about some semblance, however small, at that early hour, of human instincts that told her there was a good reason, somewhere, for a human being having to get up and out of bed at such an ungodly hour of the morning. Her sheer cotton summer nightgown fell to the carpeted floor somewhere between bed and shower along the way.

It left her entering the shower cubicle naked and nowhere near awake enough to properly handle the hot and cold taps so she didn’t scald or freeze herself when she stepped into the fine jet sprays.

“Ooohhhshiiitt!” Annie shrieked as she stepped blindly into the freezing jets after taking a sleepy guess as to the correct tap positions. “Damn!”

But it was too late. She was fully awake and aware now-aware that she had done the same thing as she had the day before, and the day before that, and so on. Only the temperature of the water jets ever changed-one morning scalding hot enough to braze her soft skin like a pork chop-the next, cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey. Annie didn’t have a set of balls, although there were many times when she’d wished she did have, as well as a male’s strong body to go with it. If she had, she would have made short work of those who had been slow to pay her for the hard work she’d done on their behalf.

Her feeling hands adjusted the hot and cold taps until they were just right. Then she stepped carefully under the jets. Her mind relaxed instantly, feeling the tension of her shock from the cold water melt and drain from her body. It seemed to swirl down the centre hole in the shower tray with the rest of her still-waking thoughts. The room slowly steamed up.

Annie just stood there, soaking in the relaxing heat from the powerful jets of hot water slicing and dicing the soft flesh of her back and shoulders. She loved the shower blasting into her pores. It always made her feel completely clean and fresh to begin each day’s work. Then, slowly, as if waking up from a one hundred-year sleep and realising she was still alive, her eyes narrowed, and then opened fully. Then slowly they narrowed again as her jaw tensed and set firm.

“Ooohhhhnnnnooooo!” She suddenly groaned. “Bloody helllllll!” She cursed, yet remained standing under the shower.

The hot jets of water were the only thing right then that kept her from blowing her top altogether. It was ‘Saturday’. She’d had ‘no’ reason to get up at all. In her exhausted state from the night before she’d forgotten to turn off the bedside alarm clock. It was too late now, though, and Annie knew it.

As it had always been with her, once she was up and awake fully, nothing could induce her to go back to bed and sleep, no matter how much she loved sleep. She had always figured it was something in her psyche or her childhood experiences. Annie’s family had also been early risers. Nobody had ever been allowed to go back to bed once their mother and father had been up.

She remained beneath the tension-relieving jets of hot water for another fifteen minutes before finally stepping from the shower and drying herself. Her body tingled as she walked back to the bedroom. Soaping her breasts and nipples, groin and buttocks always started her natural sensual motor humming for the day, but that’s as far as it ever got-a slow idle-a slow burn- a bare ticking over of natural-felt simmering vibrations in her deep lower belly, buttocks and loins. They were always just enough to let her know she still had a sensual and a sexual side to her, somewhere.

Annie, however, had always stopped short of masturbating whenever she’d felt that special tingling in her nipples and breasts and between her legs and buttocks. She believed that it was a poor woman’s second substitute and shameful, only ever contemplated or done by a woman who couldn’t get a ‘real’ man in her life to do the natural job for her. She’d never made any consideration towards herself for her life’s hectic personal situation, in that she simply didn’t have the time or the energy to make the effort needed to meet any guys, at ‘any’ time of the day or night throughout the week.

She usually arrived home stuffed, crashed and then got up again to repeat the previous day’s routine. And she continued on in that daily routine until the weekend, where, aside from the shopping and the washing, she usually slept or rested for most of the time.

There were always reflective times, however, usually just before exhaustion took her to the depths of an instant slumber after her nightly hot showering ritual. That was when she wondered if she would ever be able to remember what to ‘do’ with, or ‘to’ a man, if she ever ‘did’ somehow manage to drag one kicking and screaming into her day or night.

She sometimes felt she was all dressed up in a woman’s body and didn’t know what to do with it. And it had been a long time for Annie since she’d allowed herself or had the opportunity to go down that trail of personal pleasure-in fact, well over a full and empty twelve months.

There always seemed to be too many other more important things that needed doing, or her job or good old sleep-nothing beat that. And if that wasn’t bad enough she always had the added pressure of her biological clock ticking away in the background of her busy partner-less life.

Each morning or whenever she happened to think about it, which was becoming more and more often these days, that biological ticking seemed to be getting a little louder. She often sarcastically joked with herself that if the ticking became any louder she could throw away her alarm clock and just set herself.

At just twenty-seven yeas of age it seemed to always be a constant battle in getting enough sleep necessary to keep the dark circles away from beneath her eyes. And on those times when she sarcastically referred to herself in the mirror as ‘raccoon-face’ she had been grateful for the make-up assistants.

They always seemed full of sympathy and understanding for her. They, too, had to keep those same exhausting routines each day in support of the glamour models. They either restored to some semblance of their former glory of the night before or enhanced them far beyond nature’s naturally intended looks and features for them before each shoot.

Annie dressed in sloppy jeans and a sweatshirt, the exact opposite in image to her normal look for her daily work. Then she went to the kitchen and made herself some coffee and toast; just enough to keep the worms at bay until midmorning, whereupon, on a Saturday, she would usually cook herself a large feed of bacon and eggs-her one good meal of the week. She ate that way in order to keep her weight down and not require any heavy gym work as some of the models needed to do.

While she sipped her coffee and munched on her toast Annie noticed the paper again and immediately focussed upon the circle of dark eyebrow pencil she had drawn around the advertisement on the previous day. She reached for the paper and read the advert again, slowly.

She allowed her imagination to try and establish just what it would be like working as an artist’s model while he painted her in oils on canvas for posterity to gaze upon one day. Maybe they’d wonder what century she had lived in and what her life and times must have been like?

She read it again, slowly, taking into account everything she hated about her life and the job she’d been doing since she’d turned nineteen and had won a free fashion shoot for a magazine in a local beauty contest for charity. The more she remembered everything she didn’t like about her job, including the accidental early rising that morning, the more Annie moved her face and eyes and imagination closer to the words of the advert.

Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, she decided to call the number and find out what the job entailed, and especially, how much it paid, along with ‘when’ she would be paid. The only problem she could foresee was that she would have to give up her job with the magazine. She sighed and dialed the number listed in the add without another thought. A male voice answered on the third ring.

“Yes.” Answered a strong, yet soft male voice that was rich in its own timbre.

“Oh!...errr... Hi!” Annie stammered a little, caught still thinking about his voice. “I’m calling about the advertisement in the paper yesterday, regarding a model for oil painting work? Is it still available?”

“Yes.” He answered. “Although several have made appointments for an interview today. Would you like to do the same?”

Annie’s heart jumped. A commitment! Did she really want to do this? She felt a little breathless as her mind raced for a quick decision.

“Can you tell me a little about it?” She asked.

Silence. Then:

“That’s why we have an interview. Good idea for just such a question, don’t you think?” He replied a little dryly, although she thought she could detect a little trace of a smile in his tone. She felt dumb and angry at the same time. She was definitely not and never had been a morning person, but she had a job at stake-one she would have to give up if she took this one, that’s if one of the other girls didn’t get it first. That thought alone made up her mind for her.

“Yes.” She said positively, ignoring his comments. “I’d like to make an appointment for an interview then.”

“Your telephone number?” She was then asked.

The bristles stood up on the back of her neck. She treasured her privacy and security.

“I’d like to make an appointment for an interview, please.” She said firmly. “Not make a date. Okay? Name the time and place and I’ll be there.”

“Your phone number is necessary so I can call you back and verify we aren’t wasting each other’s time.” He said. “Not to invade your privacy.”

Annie bristled. The man was beginning to push her buttons, rich voice or not.

“Look.” She said evenly. “I hate being up this early at the best of times for no good reason. I thought calling you might be a good reason. Let ‘me’ worry about my own security and ‘you’ could possibly tell me a little about the job? What does it pay?”

Annie held her breath, not really caring now if she got the job or not. The man was irritating her.

“What would you like?” The man replied dryly. “A fax? I told you-that’s the reason for the interview. Now, either you make an appointment, at which time I will tell you everything you need and want to know, or we hang up and wish each other a nice life. Sound like a fair deal to you, even at this early hour of the morning, half-asleep?”

Annie’s temper flared like a red rag waved at a Spanish bull. Now she ‘definitely’ didn’t want the job. She was all set to pay him out when he spoke first.

“Are you sure you meet the requirements of the add?” She was then asked, the man seemingly ignoring her somewhat short answer earlier.

Annie quickly grabbed the paper and held it up before her face, reading the words carefully—’Wanted-female-oil painting-patience-free time-phone number.’ What was it she was missing? She asked herself, conscious of the man waiting for an answer on the other end of the phone.

“ I can read. I’m a grown woman, after all. I’m interested in oil painting. And I ‘could’ be free if I got this job, which I don’t think I ‘want’ now anyway.” She said, then added quickly. “Oh, and I’m very patient, too.”

Annie blushed then, not from embarrassment, but from anger as she listened to the man laugh loudly into her ear for at least thirty seconds before he finally quieted, and again before she could give him his fiery due, he spoke first.

“Patient?” he queried. “’Very’ patient?” Then he laughed loudly again for a few seconds.

“You’re just not a ‘morning’ person. Right? I could only paint you in the afternoons when you became tame and civil and approachable. Right?”

Annie quickly took stock of the whole previous conversation with the man and realised how she must have sounded to a perfect stranger. Jesus! She thought, now becoming embarrassed. ‘I’m’ calling ‘him’ for a job and I’m telling ‘him’ off?” Then she blushed again, and this time it wasn’t because of her temper or anger.

“Can we start again?” She asked quietly, humbled somewhat from within her own mind’s expectation of how she should behave around perfect strangers who had not threatened her life and times in any way. “I’m sorry. My phone number is...”

“I won’t be needing your phone number, Miss.” He cut her off. Her heart sank instantly.

Well, she thought. I deserved it. Then he added, “The pay is one-hundred dollars a day, five days a week, ten until three. I feed you and I pay every Friday at three when you finish. And...”

Annie held her breath while ‘he’ paused for a breath. She couldn’t believe it. It sounded great, especially the pay and the hours and the time to be paid. Her excitement began to rise rapidly.

“And,” He began again. “I paint nude females.”

Her hopes sank more quickly than a drowning woman hanging onto an anchor-that last bit she hadn’t needed. It seemed as if she’d won the lotto and then lost it again. She drew a breath to wish him quickly on his way when he again spoke before she did. Getting to be a habit, she thought.

“I ‘don’t’ paint nude ‘women’.” He said further. “I ‘only’ paint nude ‘females’.”

His last statement threw Annie just a little, such that she fell into a short silence-short enough for him to beat her to the punch again. She was still wondering how he defined the difference between female and woman when he spoke.

“Which are you?” He asked with a smile in his voice. “Woman?... or ‘female’?”

Before she answered or could answer, Annie realised she wasn’t sure of the difference herself—’if’ she’d ever actually known of any. She’d never thought of herself as two separate aspects of a definition before.

This is crazy, she then decided. Woman or female, I’m not posing in the nude before some crank with a literary definitive obsession for a hobby, but again, he spoke first. His timing seemed to always allow him the edge.

“Don’t know, huh? Still interested and want to find out? Or would you prefer to remain as ignorant of yourself as you have been up until now.”

Annie’s temper flared like a frill-necked lizard lazing in the sun that had been suddenly stepped on, along with being angry at herself for not knowing the difference, if there ‘was’ one. Then he did it again-spoke before she could reply.

“Loxton House Apartments, eleven this morning. Don’t be late. I’ve got a following appointment at twelve. You’re the first for the day, now. Be there, or don’t be there. So long.”

The phone then went dead in Annie’s ear. She just sat there holding it up to the side of her face for almost a full minute; not knowing whether to feel angry or embarrassed, hassled or insulted, ticked off or humiliated. They all seemed fair enough, thinking back over the conversation of the whole telephone call.

When she realised her mouth was hanging open and slack-jawed, Annie also realised that the phone was still resting against the side of her head, and seemingly for no good reason, other than that of the latest in strange and unusual early morning headgear adornment. She placed it carefully back down into its cradle and closed her mouth, then took a sip of her now cold coffee. Her mouth had seemed to become as dry as the Sahara Desert.