Disclaimer: The following is fiction. The story’s content does not represent the writer’s beliefs, opinions, or attitudes. This story is intended for adult entertainment only. The characters and events depicted in this work are fictional. The author does not condone or promote unlawful activity as described in the story. By continuing to read this work, you acknowledge that you are an adult who wishes to read works of fantasy and fiction for the purpose only of fantasy. All the characters in this story are adults. They may portray different ages for the fictional character they are depicting, but they remain adults at all times.
Writer: AmandaBlonde & Regis
Subject: RUSSIAN LOLIPORN 2
Story Codes: Erotic Horror
Synopsis: With a name like Paul Yakoff, you might imagine I was connected with the sex trade in some way, and I had more than a little experience in the business. My main asset was my skill in Eastern European languages, like Hungarian, Ukrainian, Czech, Polish and Russian. That got me the kind of writing assignments that kept my penis rigid and often spouting the good stuff. On one assignment in particular, I got involved in the child pornography business to do an exposé on Russian, Czech, Polish, Hungarian and Ukrainian little girls whose mothers sold them into the sex trade. This is that story.
Russian Loliporn 2
“We explain that one of the gypsy seamstresses will do the girl’s hair and make-up, and then help her daughter get dressed. And I assure the mothers that there will always be several adults present, and that the only touching would be to position the costumes, or some bullshit like that.
“You’ll see. We want the mother to be used to dropping off her daughter to get changed or photographed. We make it clear that we don’t want the mothers to stay, because that distracts the girls.
“All the make-up, dressing, and camera work is done by ‘our experts.’ The mothers don’t insist on any standards. They know we’re professionals, and that any interference would be the end of her daughter’s career as a model.”
“What will you tell them about me? They are bound to notice my accent.”
“Your accent is not that bad. Educated Englishman. I wouldn’t need to tell them anything, but I might make the girl feel even more self-conscious by saying you represent one of the English-speaking websites for artists.
“They would likely become nervous in front of a scout, if they knew you look for exceptionally limber, pretty young girls to be featured on your site – one dedicated to our kind of art, and featuring only the work of true artists.
“And I might say something about getting a bonus if the girl is accepted for ours and also your site.” He laughed and winked at me. I laughed, too.
“I’ll tell them you need to find ‘a few very limber, flexible young female models who aren’t shy! Once the money is on the table for the first shoot the mothers will be glad to have their daughters undress for us. Once they see the cash on the table. You’ll see.”
“Do the mothers ever try to stay in the studio with the photographers during the photo shoot?”
“Some try,” he said. “Of course, we never allow them to stay for the nude stuff. They may watch the initial interview after their daughters have changed outfits and we take some preliminary pictures, with the girls fully clothed, so we can get approval to hire them as models.
“I usually tell them I will need to get the OK to hire her daughter, once she’s selected. I keep them guessing and hoping.” He showed me a smirk. “They always encourage their daughters to be more obedient that way.”
“Selected?” I laughed. “I bet you never invite ugly girls, do you?”
“Of course not!” He said. “Or we won’t pay referral fees to whoever sent us any ugly cuntlets for the interview.”
After a pause, he continued. “We even have several grade two and three teachers on retainer who speak to the mothers about their cute daughters. That gives us credibility. And it gives the teachers some extra money!”
He added. “Most referrals come from the mothers of the models themselves, trying to help a niece or a cousin. It stays in the family that way, and we have several families with several pretty little girls contributing their naked talents for our cameras.”
Just then we heard the lift squeaking up to our floor. Demetri waved his hand around and said, “All four suites on the third floor are set up for these interviews and photo sessions.” He smiled and winked at me.
“This is a very profitable business! The large bathroom in the deluxe suite is set up as a changing room, complete with a seamstress Gypsy woman who will help the girls change into various outfits.
“She’ll touch up their hair, apply make-up, and offer ‘hints’ to the models about how to pose if she really wants to be hired as a model. She lets the girls see pictures of other girls – pictures a little more graphic than the ones in the portfolios we’ll show the mothers!
“The little girls love to look at pictures of other pretty, little, naked girls. And of course, when the potential model goes into the “dressing room”, cameras will start rolling, unbeknownst to the girl or her mother.
“Ms. Persia will make sure the naked girl faces each of the secret cameras and does stretching poses to help the darlings, once nude, to get limbered up before she gets dressed in the skimpy costumes and ready for modeling.
“Ms. Persia and Dagmar both love helping me.” He chuckled, “they both like to see and feel the girls – as much as you or me! And if the girl is already getting wet when Ms. Persia helps her on with the sexy, transparent new panties, she will include the word ‘yes’ when she brings the girl out from the dressing room.”
As the eleven-year-old and her mother got off the lift, Demetri said to me, loud enough for them to hear, “and the three girls we choose today, out of the six girls we will interview – well, they will probably be invited to do many more photo shoots – but of course only if the mothers and daughters are on time and very cooperative.”
We walked over to greet them. Demetri began by complimenting Mrs. Stegovitch on her promptness. The girl’s mother helped her daughter off with her long coat, revealing the girl’s very short skirt, long slender legs, and budding figure.
The stocky woman smiled as us, as if she had just unveiled a marble statue for public approval. The girl had a shy, worried half-smile and hunched her shoulders forward, as if embarrassed by the very short skirt her mother had insisted she wear.
Her egg-sized breasts pressing outward on the tight, white, silk blouse. There was no bra, and none required. “Stand up straight!” Mrs. Stegovitch whispered loudly to her daughter. “Be proud of your lovely figure!”
As Demetri made the introductions Lera’s mother began looking around – appraising the rooms and the quality of the carpeting. She nodded, almost to herself. “Very nice.” She said.
We stood in the large hall space, with some tasty paintings of nudes on the walls. Lera, the eleven-year-old, looked nervous and excited, ready to either bolt or faint. She was all dressed up and scrubbed clean, but without make-up.
Demetri’s talent scouts told the mothers not to put make-up on the model because his staff would take care of that. The cheap perfume and short skirt told us that the girl’s mother wanted Lera to be appealing.
Everyone hugged everyone. I felt Lera’s back and hips while hugging her, and ran my hands over her ass while kissing her cheek. She kissed my check back, but didn’t say anything about my extra-bold caress.
She blushed and looked at the floor after the introductions and hugs. Lera tried to tug the hem of her skirt down, embarrassed by the very short length. Demetri could go from being tough and dangerous to charming in the same sentence.
Now he was being charming. He led them through the four suites which opened off the elevator hall. Each suite was set up as a studio, with open closet doors revealing props and costumes. He had his arm around Lera the whole time.
He pointed at this costume or that prop, while explaining how important good lighting was for such a beautiful model. He big hand slid from her shoulder to hip and back, sliding smoothly all over her back and bottom, depending on where Lera’s mother was looking.
I noticed him pointing at a backdrop with his left hand while his right hand was patting Lera’s bottom. He stopped by the fat, wooden horse, about the size of a large dog, on a pole, as if it were on a carousel.
The gaily-painted horse had an English hunting saddle carved into it’s back. The horse was mounted on a red, metal box on the floor that had an electric cord coming out of it. It was obviously a working model.
He said, “Sometimes we have the model get all dressed up to ride the horse. We’ll change the backdrop depending on the model’s clothes. Then she sits on the saddle and pretends to ride the horse while it goes up and down.
All the girls love to ride the horse, in fancy outfits at first. They say it’s fun, like being on a merry-go-round.” Lera studied the horse with a big smile on her face. I smiled too, just watching her, hoping to watch her ride it later.
Demetri had turned the horse on for me earlier, to show how the saddle vibrated as the horse went up and down and rocked forwards and back. The whole device was noisy to cover the sound of the large vibrator built into the English saddle.
There was a thin muslin saddlecloth over the vibrator in the saddle. Demetri told me that the girls loved to ride it, and none complained about the vibrations stimulating their little vaginas as they rode.
“Sometimes they say it ‘tickles’ when they first ride it, but after that first ride, they all want to ride it again. Of course, we never let them ride more than a couple minutes, or they would quickly become over-stimulated.
“When they want a second ride, we’ll have them put on fresh panties before they get back on. It’s funny how they ask to ride it again. And it’s funny how wet the panties are after just a minute riding our wooden horse.”
One room was set up like a ballet studio on one side and a bedroom on the other. The ballet side was complete with mirrors and stretching bars. Demetri introduced them to the wardrobe and make-up assistant, Mrs. Persia.
He made a comment about what a fine seamstress she was. He introduced them to Dagmar, his female photographer, who kissed Lera squarely on her lips. I was the only one to notice her hand lift Lera’s short skirt to find her pubic mound.
Lastly, he told them about me. “Mr. Yakoff is an artistic photographer, and came all the way from England.” He said. “He needs to find a few very limber and beautiful, young models for his art photography books.”
We talked for several minutes, the chubby mother pretending to be interested in art. Ms. Persia brought us wine, crackers, cheese, and fruit that was already sliced. Lera walked over to a side table covered with photo albums and looked through one of them while the adults talked.
I repeated that even if she were selected to pose nude for the cameras or do a nude dance video, nobody in this country would ever see the photos or videos, as they would be posted exclusively on South East Asia websites, for Asians to enjoy.
Demetri opened an album full of young models close to Lera’s age. The poses were similar for each girl, a set of eight shots from fully dressed to half dressed, then nudes of the girls laying on their tummies.
The final shots were of a nude girl standing in a front pose with one foot on a chair so that her knee was shielding her bald pussy from the camera. Lera came back over to our table to look in the book with us.
Both Lera and her mother were studying the photo sets as Demetri slowly turned the pages in the big album. One girl was featured on each two-page spread. In the four photos on the left page the girl was dressed, at least partially.
In the four photos positioned on the right page the girl was nude. Demetri pointed for Lera to go back and look at the other albums by the wall. When she was over at the side of the room again, he explained that for the clothed modeling the pay was 200 rubles per hour.
“And for pictures like these, tastefully posed with your clothes off, you will earn 800 rubles per hour,” He said. This is the kind of work we do, and I can guarantee you, Lera will be thrilled to be able to say these photos are of her.”
After a brief pause, he added, “And for this type of art photography, your daughter would be modeling 8 to 10 hours each month instead of just one or two hours for the fully dressed fashion modeling, depending on the needs of our various clients.
THE END OF CHAPTER TWO