The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Miami, Summer 2023

I straighten my back, lift my head high, adopt that “dreamy/sexy” look. Goddamnit, I’m impatient. How long is this gonna take?

“One more second, Cara, one more second…” Antonio pleads with me, still hunched over his camera. “One more second…”

I resist the urge to exhale in disgust. I fucking swear—¡Lo juro!—if Antonio can’t get his shit together, I’m walking off this set. I’m so doing it. No tienes idea.

My nose itches, but I ignore it. I’ve been a professional body model for three years now, and I can will away an itchy nose with ease. Bernardo, my agent, tells me that that’s the kind of skill which separates the amateur girls and the hardened pros. He’s right.

Today’s photo shoot is not an easy gig at all. Para principiantes, I’m posing totally naked, save for the pasties covering my nipples. The shoot’s sponsor is a chain of marijuana dispensaries, so the pasties are in the shape of marijuana leaves. Inteligente, ¿no? I’m sitting up on a couch, with a potted plastic marijuana plant placed between my open legs, so you can tell that I’m desnuda, but you can’t actually see my vajayjay. My long, dark hair is loose, tumbling down by back and shoulders. The photographer’s assistant has pumped some mist into the air, which I guess is supposed to look like reefer smoke in the shot.

There are about five hotbox lights trained on me, all stabbing my eyes. Goddamnit! Its really fucking hard to gaze at the camera without squinting. Its hot up here; my skin feels like its baking.

But maldita sea, I hold my pose, maintaining my “dreamy/sexy” look, which means my face is blank, my eyelids are half-closed, my mouth is slightly open. I guess I’m supposed to look like I’m high. Whatevs.

“Yeah, one more second…” Antonio frets, then the camera clicks away. “Oh, that’s beautiful, Cara! Gorgeous! Yes! Katie, get the 135 mm ready for the next shot.”

I don’t budge from my pose… but inside, I’m fuming. I’ve been goddamned naked on this set for, what, over an hour now? An hour and a half? This shoot was contracted for sixty minutes. Antonio is such a fucking amateur.

“Yes, yes!” the photographer cries out, still clicking away. “Yes… Oh, wait.” I see him wince. “Katie!”

Immediately, I know what’s happened. One of those fucking pasties have come off my tit again, exposing my nip.

I look down, and sure enough, there’s my left boob, completely uncovered. Antonio better not have snuck a pic of me like this.

“¡La hostia!” I snarl.

Katie, Antonio’s overweight assistant, rushes in from behind a light. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, Ms. Marina!” she frets, grabbing the fallen pasty. “I’ll put this back on…”

“This is the third fucking time this has happened!” I yell at the girl, no longer bothering to hide my anger.

“I know, I know, I know,” cringes Fattie Katie, her fat hands dipping into a fanny pack at her waist. She whips out a small bottle of body glue.

“That shit is worthless,” I snarl, glaring at the glue. “It also fucking stinks. I’m gonna smell like that after this malísimo shoot!”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” Fattie Katie babbles, already slathering the glue over my tit. As I glare at her, the makeup girl carefully reapplies the pasty, wincing as she concentrates. She’s squishing my boob as she works.

“You look really beautiful,” Fattie Katie tells me hopefully.

“You do!” seconds Antonio, ready with his camera.

Whatever. Lo que. “What time is it?” I demand.

“Uhhhh…” Antonio looks uncomfortable. “We still have three more poses to get.”

“What fucking time is it?”

Reluctantly, the photographer glances at his watch. “Three forty-nine.”

Mierda, we still have eleven minutes on the clock? I hate this shoot.

“…there, there!” Fattie Katie says proudly, releasing my boobie. “Its on!”

“Pose, please!” Antonio cries, lifting his camera. Katie scurries away.

So I lift my head, adopting the “dreamy/sexy” look once more.

“And…” The photographer squints through his lens. “Aw, shit.”

With an angry, “What?” I glance down. Now the other pasty has fallen off. My right nipple is free and pointing at the opposite wall.

“Maldita sea!” I swear, lurching to my feet. I knock the fake marijuana plant over, and I don’t care. My legs are cramped and tingling.

“But we’re not finished!” wails Antonio.

I’m completely naked, yet I glare at the incompetent moron with complete authority. “Oh, we’re fucking done,” I tell him. “We’re so done.”

I tear off the one remaining pasty, throw it to the floor, then storm across the little studio, looking for my robe and my smartphone. Where’s my goddamn phone?

Antonio and Fattie Katie try to assuage me, but I flip them off. I’ve had it with these clueless losers. If Antonio doesn’t already have the shots he needs, that’s on him. Fuck him. I storm off to my dressing area.

I pull on my clothes quickly, ignoring the pleas from Antonio. After a few minutes, the estúpido threatens to call Bernardo, my agent. But I don’t fucking care. Let him call. I’ll sue. My lawyer is a fucking killer, I’ll own Antonio’s desdichado little photography studio within a week.

Twenty minutes later, I’m back in my street outfit: small black sleeveless tee, skinny jeans (tight on the butt), Gucci pumps with three inch heels, a light jacket. I sling my purse over one shoulder.

As I march back into the studio, Antonio and Fattie Katie are dissembling the photography set. Antonio is grumbling. I make a point not to make eye contact with him.

As I’m striding towards the door, my eye is caught by Antonio’s laptop, which is turned on and displaying a familiar-looking webpage. I pause.

¡Ey, I know that website!

Its modeldata.biz, an industry website for models and photographers! To use this database, you have to pay a hefty fee, so only the die-hard pros are members. Huh. I didn’t know Antonio had that kind of cash.

I peer closer, only to realize with a shock that… on the laptop screen is my modeldata profile! ¡Dios mío! I’ve never seen myself on modeldata.biz before.

Now I read the laptop screen very closely:

MODEL NAME: Marina, Cara Sonia

REPRESENTED BY: AGA Modeling Agency, LLC // Bernardo Lopez, Personal Agent

BIRTHDATE: 05-02-01 (Age: 22 years)

ETHNICITY: Mexican

MEASUREMENTS:

BUST: 34DD // WAIST: 26 // HIPS: 35

HEIGHT: 5 ft 4 in (1.63 m)

WEIGHT: 125 lb (57 kg)

BODY TYPE: Voluptuous, Sexy // SKIN TONE: Tanned // HAIR: Dark Chocolate Brown, Long // EYES: Hazel

BODY SPECIALTIES: Butt, legs, breasts

FLUENT IN: English, Spanish

AVAILABLE FOR: Body Modeling / Product Modeling / Semi-nudity / Bikini / Lingerie

WILL NOT CONSIDER: Full nudity / Erotic / Sexual Material

Yeah, that all seems legit. But then, there’s a section where my former employers rank me:

FACIAL BEAUTY QUOTIENT: 10/10 (Comments: “Uniquely beautiful!” // “So gorgeous” // “God, Cara’s face is just perfect!” // “Send her to acting school”)

BODY APPEARANCE: 10/10 (Comments: “Great, smooth skin” // “Best ass in the biz” // “She has the best BBL I’ve ever seen” // “Perfect curves” // “Great legs” // “Classic hourglass figure” // “No cellulite, no body fat” // “Sexy silhouette!”)

SEX APPEAL QUOTIENT: 10/10 (Comments: “Cara has a great butt, small but round, great tone!” // “Very nice breasts” // “Well-shaped breasts” // “Natural breasts, look great” // “Cara’s tits are AWESOME!” // “Clients like her perfect bubble butt” // “Someone pls get this girl to pose fully naked”)

Hmm, that’s actually very flattering. I have to remember to push Bernardo to increase my rates. I so should be making a lot more money with reviews like these.

But after the physical comments:

PROFESSIONAL COMPOSURE: 1/10 (Comments: “Cara is a spoiled diva.” // “Very difficult to work with” // “Demanding” // “Berates photography staff” // “Seriously, what a fucking bitch”)

Oh.

For a second, I’m offended. I’m a fucking bitch, me??? ¿Qué chingados? Who the fuck would dare…?

You know what? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t fucking matter. In the modeling world, the gorgeous women can do whatever they want. If I’m physically rated a ten, then I can be a pinche cuca to whomever the fuck I please.

Fuck modeldata.biz. I spin on my heels and march out of Antonio’s shitty little studio in a huff.