The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Chapter 1 — The Luckiest Photographer in Fleet Street

Graham Thomas looked down at the young red lips of the 18 year old dirty blonde model currently bobbing up and down on his erect cock.

He was trying to remember when the thrill of young fucking hot models had lost its excitement. About the same time the cocaine had started to lose its edge too he guessed.

The passage of time was a bummer. Nowadays he was more worried about seeing the first grey pubic hairs appearing down there, than the marvel his younger self used to feel at having landed a career that came with free sex on tap. It certainly didn’t help that this latest young wannabe star was barely a couple of years older than his own daughter.

Although he was starting to worry about his age, ‘John’ as everyone in the newspaper industry knew him, was still universally labelled the luckiest photographer in Fleet Street.

The name had started out as a joke. John Thomas, the talented young news photographer supplementing his meagre income with porn shoots for some of London’s mucky magazines, but not wanting friends or family to know.

Even today, as Head of Photography for the global Max Media empire, his newspaper photographs were credited to Graham Thomas, while the ever dwindling porn mag work still appeared as John Thomas. But the nickname had stuck. Everyone called him John, even his wife.

Everyone except Max Kelly, the billionaire owner of Max Media. And the fact Graham called him Max in return, in a world where all others addressed him as ‘Sir Max’, or his enemies as ‘Kinky Kelly’ at least when not in earshot, only added to the photographer’s legend.

They had met as teenagers, both ducking and driving through the seedier parts of London trying make something of themselves. Graham the hotshot young snapper, Max an Australian backpacker temporarily earning some cash producing mucky mags.

Before long, Kinky Kelly had achieved market dominance, and John Thomas was managing all of Max Media’s photography, while Graham Thomas was building a good reputation at photo-desks across Fleet Street, and the pair of friends partied their way through London’s sex and drugs scene by night.

With his first fortune, Max bought The Comet, one of several UK tabloid newspapers, bring Graham along with him, and quickly growing it into the country’s biggest selling daily paper. His talented formula of bite sized news, sport, celebrity gossip and famous daily naked Page 3 girl was a runaway winner.

Naturally John was the Page 3 girls’ photographer, earning him the envious label of the luckiest man in Fleet Street. While for the ever growing Max Media empire, the steady stream of wannabe Page 3 stars ensured constant new content for the porn mags as well as newspaper customer crossover to drive sales.

Soon the newly knighted Sir Max owned several UK broadsheets, then newspapers all over the globe, before moving into the broadcast media revolution and lately into the new digital media platforms.

Graham the young photographer had been lucky to be along for the ride. They had both benefited from being in the right place at the right time at the heyday of print media sales. It was only now as a well-financed retirement loomed that digital media felt like it was killing off the old photographer’s art.

Not that he had any complaints about Max Media either. There had been no attempts to airbrush out the Kinky Kelly moniker, to create the fake air of respectability so loved by the British establishment. Sir Max had simply moved into adult TV and digital sites alongside his mainstream media growth, but he had also kept on one or two of the now unprofitable mucky mags going too. It was as if they were a lucky totem to the two friends’ rise to fortune. Either that, or they were just a determined two fingers to the stuck-up British establishment Sir Max so loathed!

Either way, John Thomas was the luckiest photographer in Fleet Street. The rich and powerful Head of Photography at Max Media, and the legendary Page 3 girl photographer. Gatekeeper to a girl’s modelling career.

All the Agents had his number on speed dial. From the legit showbiz, to the shadowy porn producers he and Max had originally started working with. Even today, when a determined girl might carve out a name for herself on social media, there was no shortage of young wannabes thinking Page 3 was a route that would make them the next Linda Lusardi, Sam Fox or Sophie Anderson. But it was only the very lucky few who ever made it on TV, in the celebrity columns, or as a big enough porn star, to become a household name like those rare three.

Most just used their modelling shoot with John to get their topless Page 3 shots done, followed by some soft-core shots for one of Max Media’s porn mags. That was normally their passport into an ever darker world of hard-core porn, where the drugs, booze and abuse would eventually break them and spit them back out, usually penniless. But the most ambitious girls had provided John and Max with a never ending conveyor belt of pussy, eager to try fucking their way to the top.

Over the years, John had developed a knack for usually being able to spot the models who would offer to fuck him for a leg up the career ladder almost immediately. After all, it was how he meet his wife.

He certainly hadn’t been wrong about Sian, today’s young Welsh teen currently giving him a blowjob in return for a contract shoot with Max Media’s hard-core division. To be fair it was an easy guess. The young model was hoping to escape the poverty of the valleys via Pete ‘The Pimp’ Jones, one of John’s reliable Welsh agents from the early days.

Pete had already invested in sculpting Sian’s ass, lips and tits into fuckdoll material, and had no doubt told her exactly what she need to do to get ahead in Max Media. She’d asked John to fuck her in the ass. In the old days it might take weeks of heavy sexual flirting with a model to get her to that level of depravity on screen. These days, Pete ‘The Pimp’ had probably fucked the girl’s asshole into submission as a matter of routine.

It was the unsavoury thought of it that which had made John settle for a blowjob instead. Plus it seemed a shame not to make good use of Pete’s investment in silicon for a tit fuck. Investment that would shortly be titillating, quite literally, the masturbatory thoughts of Page 3 fans everywhere.

The luckiest photographer in Fleet Street grunted and came in the slut’s mouth. He reached for the discarded little Canon SLR Digital camera on the sofa beside him, and took a final picture for his private collection of Sian smiling between his legs, his cum splashed across her outstretched tongue.

Sir Max might not care about airbrushing history, but on more than one occasion a successful Page 3 girl turned TV presenter had tried to bite the hand that fed with some airbrushing of their own. Usually vocally joining campaigns against Page 3 with claims of naïve teen abuse and coercion. John’s little private collection of blackmail pictures had saved Max Media several times.