Pictures of Mandy

Photo-story from Blushes 73 featuring Belinda Laine

It was a lovely warm, sunny day. Maybe that was a good omen. It could easily have been rainy, or with a nasty cold wind, forcing Mandy to wear a coat and therefore not able to show herself off like this. In just a short skirt and summer top, showing off her super legs (no stockings or tights) in her white high heels. And all the rest of her. Her super shape, slim-waisted but ripely curving hips and boobs. Her lovely long blonde hair. Her beautiful face. Well perhaps not quite beautiful but really attractive. And to get into films you didn’t need a beautiful face so much as an interestingly pretty one. Someone had told Mandy that and she had filed it away in her mind.

Stepping briskly out now at lunchtime in the sunshine with a springy clatter of her high heels and a business-like sway of her skirt. From the office and across the square, with people turning their heads to look at this striking blonde. Quite possibly guessing that she was a girl going for a film test. Or at least thinking that she certainly had the looks and figure to be in films or TV even if they couldn’t guess that.

Mandy hadn’t told anyone. About this Mr Wimler whom she had an appointment to meet now. Mr Wimler who was going to give her a screen test. It had been a big temptation of course but she hadn’t told anyone. Neither at the office, where Mandy had to ask Mr Brownley, her boss, for half a day off (making up a story of having to see her gran who wasn’t very well), nor Chris her boyfriend. She was keeping the whole thing a secret. Until she had done a test and had got a contract or something. Then she would triumphantly announce it. To everyone: her mum, Chris, at the office. But until then, not a word.

Mandy hadn’t told anyone anything. Not about this Mr Wimler nor Mr Lawrence either. Mr Lawrence who was her agent. Well sort of. Mr Lawrence who had a little office on Sprinkler Street. Sprinkler Street was a bit seedy with little shops and office like Mr Lawrence’s which was old and dilapidated, not bright and smart like Charnley Accountants where Mandy worked. Mandy wasn’t too keen on going to Sprinkler Street and Mr Lawrence’s office but of course she had to, to see him. To see if he had anything for her, a contact or something. When Mandy went to Mr Lawrence’s office, right after work usually, she wore a coat with a scarf over her hair. So that she didn’t look too conspicuous and people wouldn’t remember seeing her there.

Well, it was all hush-hush, until Mandy was able to make some proud announcement. She didn’t like going to see Mr Lawrence anyway. Because of what he usually wanted. Mandy didn’t like to think of what Mr Lawrence usually wanted but she knew it was the sort of thing agents quite frequently wanted from a girl. In exchange for getting her into films or TV.

What Mr Lawrence usually wanted was, with the door of his little office locked, to get Mandy up on his desk. On her back. With her knickers off of course. And screw her. Mandy’s super legs up in the air and Mr Lawrence standing at the edge of the desk, his trousers and underpants round his knees. Doing it like that. Mr Lawrence was about 50 and overweight, a bit of a slob, but he was still very keen on doing it. No doubt because Mandy was so attractive. She didn’t like letting him do it, in particular in that indecorous position on her back on the desk. Not at all. But… she had to accept it.

Mr Lawrence didn’t always have something for her but usually he still wanted to do it. Mandy could phone him of course but he usually liked her to come round at least once a week. Whether he had something or not. But anyway last Thursday Mr Lawrence did have something. This Mr Wimler.

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Mandy met Mr Wimler in the Golden Lion as planned. It wasn’t a pub that anyone she knew was likely to go in and in any case it wouldn’t be a problem. If Chris or one of his mates saw her she could simply say it was a client from the office she was with. Mr Wimler was younger than Mr Lawrence and not slobby-looking — quite nice-looking in fact. And very complimentary, telling Mandy she was really super looking: her face, her hair, and also that she had really great legs. Sitting with her in a secluded corner with gin-and tonics he put his hand on one leg. Gripping a warm bare knee and then sliding his hand up under Mandy’s skirt. As he told her about this film he was planning to make. It would have two really stunning girls in it who go to France on a camping holiday and have various adventures. Of course there would be quite a lot of glamorous shots of them in their little walking shorts and also in the nude. He could certainly see Mandy in one of these parts, he said.

As Mr Wimler described all this his hand had slid further up under Mandy’s short skirt. Mandy didn’t object of course, not with what Mr Wimler had to offer. She allowed her thighs to be pushed gently apart as the hand slid in between them. There was no one else close, in a position to see. Mr Wimler’s hand slid right up, to the tight, brief crotch of Mandy’s knickers. His fingers gently stroked along the lips of her pussy as he repeated:

‘Yes, I can really see you as one of those two lovely girls, Mandy.’

When they had finished their drinks Mr Wimler took Mandy to Mr Lawrence’s warehouse at the other end of town. At least that was how she thought of it: Mr Lawrence’s warehouse. It might not actually be his but Mr Lawrence certainly had use of it and he let clients use it if they wanted to take pictures of a girl. Mandy had been there before more than once to have photographs taken by Mr Lawrence’s clients or contacts. Nothing had unfortunately come of these clients who had expected to be able to get Mandy into films or TV and had taken their photographs of her, either nude or in glamorous underwear in revealing and also embarrassing positions. But this time, with Mr Wimler and his film of the two girls in France, Mandy was sure it would be different.

At the warehouse they went up the bare wooden stairs to the room that was mostly used for photo sessions. It was just a big bare room but Mr Lawrence had put in some powerful floodlights so that you could take very good quality photographs. It was excellent for getting the quality of a girl’s flesh, one man, Mr Barford, had earlier told Mandy. He had been very pleased with the pictures he had taken of her, including nude ones of Mandy lying on the wooden table. Some of Mandy with her lovely legs wide, including close-up detailed shots of her pussy.

Mandy kept a record of her contacts and photo sessions in a secret diary. Unfortunately nothing had come of Mr Barford — which was also the case with the others so far (there had been three in all). Mandy had seen Mr Barford a couple more times and had let him fuck her but Mr Lawrence said he thought Mr Barford was having financing problems. That was frequently a problem in the film and TV business.

But you had to keep optimistic, that was the thing, Mr Lawrence said. You never knew when something really good would turn up. And Mandy was only 19, and so attractive that she had a really excellent chance of breaking in. She had really only just started, with just those three unfortunate blanks so far. Mr Wimler was the fourth and Mandy was sure, she had that feeling, that this would be the big one.

Mr Wimler had a little pair of white silk knickers for Mandy to wear — together with a pair of wide blue-grey men’s braces. He wanted the braces adjusted so that they were really tight — so that in turn the brief little knickers were really yanked up. Virtually disappearing into the cleft of Mandy’s bottom and also cutting tightly into her pussy. When TV and film people took pictures of you they always wanted something a bit different, a little bit way-out. As Mr Lawrence said, it made for more striking shots.

The photo room had a wooden saw-bench and a high stool for use as props, in addition to the table. He wanted to use all of them in turn. Mandy sitting, and then kneeling, on the saw horse. Sitting on the high stool and also bending over it. And lying on the table, with her legs up. He seemed very pleased with his shots, with Mandy wearing just the tightly-drawn-up knickers and braces After that Mr Wimler wanted the usual. What Mr Lawrence usually wanted on his desk; what the other three film men had wanted. Mr Wimler indicated this as soon as he had finished up three rolls of film. Putting down his camera and getting friendly. Stroking Mandy’s nude tits. Feeling her pussy through the ultra-tight silk knickers. Mandy knew what he wanted and she didn’t try to resist, not with her feeling that this Mr Wimler was going to be the one that would turn up trumps.

So Mandy was cooperative as Mr Wimler took off the knickers and braces and then bent her face-down over the table. But she did say, ‘I don’t usually do this you know. It’s only that you’re… well you’re special.’ Not wanting Mr Wimler to think she was easy or promiscuous.

Mr Wimler laughed and said he knew. He could see she was a really nice girl. But of course when you wanted to get into films…

Afterwards Mrs Wimler wanted to know something else. Did Mandy have a boyfriend? Well of course he realised she must have, but what was he like? Was he Mandy’s sort of age? Nice-looking?

Chris was of course: nice-looking and just 20. Mandy said yes. She then got a bit of a surprise. What Mr Wimler would like he said was to take some photos of the two of them together. Mandy and Chris. Doing it. Screwing. In different positions. He could use it in his film. Mr Wimler could use Chris in the film as well as Mandy if he was a nice-looking young chap like Mandy said.

That rather stopped Mandy, who was getting dressed now, in her tracks. No one had wanted that before. Mr Lawrence had never mentioned anything like that. And Chris…

Flushing, Mandy shook her head.

Mr Wimler gave her a quizzical look. No? Well in that case he said he could probably find another young chap. He really needed the two of them, and needed to get shots of the two of them. Some nice screwing shots. That would be all right, wouldn’t it? If he found another young chap. Mandy could do some screwing shots with him.

‘But it’s got to be the real thing,’ Mr Wimler added. ‘Not faking. He’s got to have it really in there. Right in. OK?’

To be continued…