Betty had thought that the morning would never come. All night long, it seemed to her, she had lain awake, her thoughts seething with disbelief and anger over what had happened. Doug slept on unconcernedly beside her, and the knowledge that he was apparently untroubled by what he had done, added fuel to the fire of her fury. When at last dawn had come, she had risen wearily, and this morning, the brandy was very welcome in her coffee. She had just finished her second cup when Doug had come into the kitchen and she had silently set about preparing breakfast for him. She didn't think she could face anything to eat herself.
"Betty, honey, about last night…" Doug began tentatively, hoping for some encouraging reassurance, but Betty didn't reply. "I'm really sorry… it'll never happen again, believe me!"
Doug's voice was earnest and humble, but Betty didn't care. Without a word, she handed him a plate of bacon and eggs, and poured him a cup of coffee.
"At least say something," Doug pleaded, ignoring his meal. "I've said I'm sorry – what more do you want? I… I guess I just lost my temper, besides being dead tired."
"Your breakfast is getting cold," Betty said indifferently, moving out of the kitchen and going into the living room.
Gratefully, she sank down into the soft sofa. Her husband didn't say anything more and she was grateful for that. She wanted to think, to go over the horrible events of last night. It wouldn't be for the first time, of course, but she reasoned that the cold light of day might throw a new gleam on the unbelievable trauma of last night. She admitted to herself that she was partly to blame, but at least, she told herself, her motives were altruistic. She had been really worried about her husband and it was her relief more than anything that had made her harangue and nag at him when he came home.
He should have phoned her – there was no denying that. But why didn't he, if his reason really was, as he insisted, that the car broke down? Betty just couldn't figure that one out. A looming suspicion kept nagging at the back of her mind… maybe he had spent the evening with another woman! No! No! Doug wouldn't do a thing like that! I know he wouldn't… or would he?
Betty just couldn't bring herself to believe that her husband was actually involved with another woman… but why then had he got so upset when she had questioned him? Was it because of a guilty conscience? But worst of all, what had made him do such a disgusting, perverted thing to her? A shiver coursed through her as she recalled the agonizing pain and humiliation of that degrading act. Her sorely tried rectal channel still twinged from his cruel rape, and she was aware of a general, overall discomfort and achiness. She still couldn't really believe that it had been her husband who had done such a dreadful thing to her. He was like a complete stranger, demented with depraved lust. And now, the fact was, she didn't think she could trust him ever again. He had broken some indefinable bond in their marriage by his wanton behavior, and that tie could never be repaired, no matter what he did or said.
The loud pealing of the doorbell broke in on her thoughts, and glancing at the clock, she realized that Doug must have left for work already. She hadn't even heard him leave. But now, someone was at the door.
Pulling her housecoat tighter around her tall, slender body, she hurried to the front door. Wondering who her early morning visitors could possible be, she pulled it open, and was surprised to find an attractive man in his early forties, accompanied by a much younger woman, standing there.
"Good morning, Mrs… ah… Fletcher!" the stranger said in a cheerful voice.
"Good morning," Betty answered, "but who…?" She was bewildered by the fact that the stranger knew her name, and wished that he'd state his business.
"I'm sorry to bother you so early, but may I come in? There's something I'd like to discuss with you!"
Betty was surprised by his request, but felt that there was no danger in admitting him to her home, as he was accompanied by the young woman.
"Certainly, come in, both of you," she said after a moment, "but you must forgive me… I haven't dressed yet."
"Don't worry about that, Mrs. Fletcher," the stranger said affably, following Betty into the livingroom.
When they were seated in the livingroom, he began again.
"First of all, let me introduce myself. I'm Harvey Peterson, and this is Jean Wembley, my assistant. Now I suppose you are wondering what all this is about?"
"Yes, I have to confess that I am," Betty said, a touch of annoyance in her voice. What did this smooth-talking stranger want with her?
"Well, I'm very pleased to be able to tell you, Mrs. Fletcher," Peterson said, his voice lowered conspiratorially, "that you have been noticed!"
"Noticed?" Betty echoed foolishly.
"Yes," Peterson went on, "out of literally thousands, you, Mrs. Fletcher, have been noticed by our talent scout!"
"Talent scout?" Betty repeated in amazement. "I'm afraid you've lost me, Mr. Peterson!"
"Well then, let me explain," Jean Wembley interjected smoothly. "Mr. Peterson is head of Galaxy Models, and sends his team of talent scouts out to search out new material. You see, we run a very special type of model agency."
Betty was staring from one to the other, her mouth half open in bewilderment.
"Yes," Peterson went on. "Instead of the usual teenager type of very young woman that most agencies seek, we look for the more striking, the more worldly type of woman. And you notice I say 'woman'. We're not interested in girls or teenagers!"
"B-but what has all this got to do with me?" Betty asked, still puzzled.
"As I mentioned, one of our talent scouts spotted you," Peterson explained, "at the Cross-Ways Supermarket, I think it was…"
"Yes, I often go there," Betty agreed, "but how come he picked me?"
"Because you're just what we're looking for!" Harvey expostulated. "You're fantastic looking. Tall, willowy, with that fabulous red hair. A rare beauty, in fact, and with something extra, too!"
"What would that be?" Betty questioned, half-facetiously. She wasn't sure she really believed the man, but on the other hand, what he was telling her was mighty interesting…
"Allure. Yes, in a word, allure," Peterson explained. "A great many women are good-looking, but not many have that extra something… the very thing that you've got!"
"I think we'd better all have a drink," Betty said, "it's getting too complicated for me." As she mixed the drinks, her brain was racing wildly. What if Peterson was serious? Would he offer her a job as a model? Images of herself, swathed in elegant clothes, adorning magazines, with all that extra money, flashed across her mind. She'd have a life of her own! She'd be someone again, not just Doug's wife!
Almost trembling, she carried the drinks over to Peterson and his assistant, and put down glass for herself on the table beside the sofa.
"Excuse me for a moment and I'll go get dressed," she said, glad of an excuse to get away and think clearly for a few moments.
"Don't bother on our account," Peterson said. "In fact, if you don't mind, I'd like to take a few pictures right away."
"Pictures? Of me?" Betty said, reaching for her drink.
"Yes, for your book. You'll need one right away, although I'm sure there are a few bookings you can get right off the bat. But a portfolio is a good thing to have. I don't usually take the photos myself, but in this case…"
Betty's brain was in a whirl. She knew he was talking about the book that all models carry around with them showing their best and most recent photographs. But… did that mean that he was accepting her as a model without delay? Oh God, it was all too good to be true…
"But shouldn't I change into something better, if you want to take full length pictures?"
"No, just head and shoulders will do for now. Later, when we do the composite, we can worry about clothes."
"B-but does this mean that I'll really be a model?" Betty breathed excitedly, taking a deep swallow of her drink.
"Honey, you are a model," Peterson said. "I'm just the guy who'll introduce you to the public!"
"I can hardly believe it," Betty breathed, finishing her Scotch. This new wrinkle put everything else in a new light. When Doug found out that she had a glamorous job, was earning her own money, meeting new people… he'd quickly change his attitude. He'd have to apologize for last night; have to try and really make it up to her… Oh thank goodness, things were really working out after all…
Betty's heart was singing and she barely heard what Peterson was saying. Jean had gone out to the car to get the cameras and Harvey was complimenting her.
"I'm sure you'll take a fantastic photograph… with skin like yours, and that hair…"
Betty was uneasily aware that Peterson's eyes were traveling hungrily down her body, taking in the curved outline of her breasts, and fastening eagerly on the long expanse of her smooth, slender legs. She was glad when Jean came back, laden with cameras. She somehow felt safer with the other woman there. Betty judged her to be in her late twenties, and thought she was quite attractive, with her short cap of dark hair and her slight, almost thin figure. She wondered if she had ever been a model herself.
Harvey was busy arranging the cameras, and Betty thought they were very impressive looking, and confusing, too. She would have felt better if she was wearing something else other than her robe, even slacks and a sweater, but she was hesitant to slip off and change in case Peterson wanted her for anything.
"Right, we'd better get the info on you first before we start taking any shots," Peterson said. Jean got out a large notebook, and Betty gave her name, address and age.
"Now your measurements, honey," Harvey said, pulling out an assortment of measuring tapes from his large black bag. He measured her height first, and then took her weight as well.
"Would you mind slipping out of that robe, honey?" Harvey asked. "Getting the right vital statistics is important!"
"But… I've only got my nightgown on underneath," Betty blurted. Somehow, she hadn't thought that he'd want to take her measurements, and was vaguely surprised that he didn't get Jean to do it.
"Don't worry about Harvey," Jean said smiling, "models are all alike to him… he's seen hundreds!"
Of course he has! she told herself with relief. I'm just being stupid about the whole thing…
She stood there in her almost transparent nightie, her robe discarded on the chair, and Harvey approached her with a long measuring tape. She shivered involuntarily as he reached around behind her and placed the tape along her back, carefully guiding the two ends around to the front.
"Must get it right on the nipples… ah, they're good and stiff!" he murmured, and Betty found herself blushing fiercely. She couldn't help it. It felt so strange to have an unknown man measuring her bust, his fingers brushing against the turgid buds of her nipples. They seemed to strain eagerly against his light, almost fleeting touch, and she wondered if he noticed.
"Okay, Jean, 36! Make a note of that!"
He measured her waist and then dropped the tape to circle around the curve of her buttocks.
Gently, he draped his hands around her hips, to straighten the tape, and Betty felt a thrill of unknown emotion course through her. Oh God, what was happening to her? Peterson's illicit touch almost felt good on her nearly naked buttocks, and his fingers in front, drawing the edges of the measuring tape together, were only inches away from the nylon-covered mound of her quivering vagina. Betty gasped with relief when he finally finished, and began to reach again for her housecoat.
"Let's do without that for a while, and get some head shots!" Harvey suggested, and Betty had no option but to comply.
The next half-hour sped by in a daze of poses, all head shots. Her neck felt stiff and sore from all the awkward positions she had to take. But it was worth it! She could hardly believe that it was actually happening to her. She hadn't murmured a word of protest when Peterson had insisted on her dropping the shoulder straps of her nightie, leaving her neck and shoulders bare. Of course, he was right when he said that it gave her a better line.
Jean had mixed more drinks, with Betty's permission, and now her head felt pleasantly fuzzy. Betty knew she shouldn't have taken the second Scotch, but she'd have felt left out if she didn't, and besides, it helped to ease the tenseness in her body, so unused to holding the stiff poses. Peterson seemed to grow more and more excited about her potential as time went on, continually exclaiming about her face, etc. and Betty could hardly believe that it was herself he was talking about in such glowing terms. It was all like a dream come true!
"Now, Betty," Harvey said at length, finishing his drink, after their short break, "how about letting me get one breast shot?"
"You… you mean naked?" Betty said incredulously.
"Sure!" Harvey said emphatically, "that's what all the clients want nowadays, isn't it, Jean? Why, Betty, I'm sure you see it yourself all the time. Take up any magazine and there it is! Bare tits to advertise everything from handkerchiefs to airplanes!"
Betty didn't know what to say. She had to admit that Peterson was right. Only the other day, she herself had pointed out to Doug an ad which showed a half-naked girl, wearing only a watch. She had commented on it, wondering why they needed nudity to sell anything. Of course, Doug didn't even hear her – there was no need to tell him why that sort of an ad was used.
"But… I don't think I'd like to make an ad like that," she said after a long silence.
"No, and you probably never will. But the fact is, the client likes to know, just in case, and always remember, in this business, the client is everything! He's always right!"
Betty was still wondering what to do when Jean came over to her and put an arm over her shoulder soothingly.
"Don't worry about Harvey, Betty," she whispered. "He just wants to take the shots, and he won't even notice. And it'll be over in a minute!"
Jean was right. It was silly to have scruples now, and she knew if she wanted to get anywhere in her new career, she'd have to do what Harvey, her agent, told her.
Gingerly, Betty eased down the half-discarded nightie still further, helped by Jean, revealing the full, milk-white mounds of her breasts. The nipples were erect and rigid, a striking dark red against the creaminess of her alabaster skin, and she was aware of Harvey's bulging eyes staring at them. His piercing look almost made her cringe and she was glad when he moved towards his camera.
"Now Betty honey," he instructed, "put your hands under your tits and sort of push them up and out!"
"But… but…" Betty faltered, her face crimsoning again.
"Look baby," Harvey said patiently, "when you start working, you'll have to look as if you're making love to the towel, or the box of detergent or whatever it is you're selling, so you might as well start learning now!"
Betty felt childish and recalcitrant. She wanted to do what Harvey told her, but some inner instinct held her back. She told herself that she just wasn't accustomed to the ways of the world, and what went on backstage in things like modeling. Well, I'm learning, she told herself wryly, and, encouraged by a friendly nod from Jean, she gently swept her voluptuously full breasts upward with a slow, tender movement. A little shiver of pleasure coursed through her at her own touch and she half closed her eyes, tilting her head backward, remembering for a fleeting moment, the unbelievable pleasure she experienced when she had made herself climax with the vibrator.
"Great! Just great!" Harvey praised enthusiastically as he took shot after shot.
"Okay, now relax for a minute, before we do a full-length!" he said, lighting a cigarette.
"F-full length?" Betty stammered, staring at him uncomprehendingly.
"Yeah, and that'll be the last. I swear, Betty, when the ad guys get a load of these shots, you'll be in real demand!"
His exciting words did not stir Betty. She was desperately trying to bring her reeling brain back to grips with reality. I knew I shouldn't have taken that second drink after the brandy this morning, she scolded herself. Harvey wanted to do a full length of her… he must mean her to be naked! She wanted to tell him that she refused, that she didn't want to pose completely naked, but somehow, she couldn't summon the will power.
"Harvey, I don't think I want…" she began tentatively, but Peterson cut her off.
"All set, Betty?" he said, ignoring her hesitant objection. What was she to do? She didn't want to let him take a photograph of her naked, but he didn't seem to understand that!
"Harvey," she began again in a more authoritative voice, "I really don't think I ought to pose naked for you!"
Peterson stared at her for a moment, his brows knitted together in irritation.
"Look, Betty, if you want to be a model, you've got to go along with what the agent and photographer says. If you don't you won't get anywhere, and no agency will touch you! So what's it to be?"
A shiver of fear touched Betty's heart. She couldn't bear not to be a model now, not after the wonderful anticipation of the last couple of hours. It was the answer to her prayers, and certainly some kind of solution to the problems she faced in her marriage. No, she couldn't let this chance slip through her fingers… just because of some modest, prim objection she had. Because that's what it is, she told herself firmly. Some advertisements did show naked woman, from the back or side view of course, but naked they were. She was being foolish to object.
Apprehensively, she slid off her nightgown and stood naked, quivering slightly, in front of Harvey and Jean. She felt as if she was in a dream. She couldn't quite bring herself to believe that she was actually standing completely naked in her own livingroom, in front of a couple of near-strangers.
"Now Betty," Harvey said, his voice strangely husky, "just stretch out on the couch, and sort of sprawl on your side, sort of like Venus!"
Obediently, Betty did as Peterson told her, and lay full length on the sofa, her head propped up with one hand, her thighs slightly parted. Harvey was looking at her intently, his eyes burning into her as they traveled from the ivory swell of her breasts down to the gleaming russet triangle of her pussy. Jean, too, was staring at her, and Betty felt uncomfortable and ill at ease. However, she felt better when Harvey began to photograph her.
"Beautiful, beautiful!" he kept repeating, and Betty just wished that it was all over.
"Now just roll over onto your stomach and show that ass of yours!"
Betty didn't care any longer about what she should or shouldn't do. She was beginning to think that she made a mistake in listening to Peterson in the first place, but now that she had gone this far, she didn't care. Harvey took just two shots of her in this new position, and then said that he was finished.
Betty was conscious only of relief. She felt suddenly tired and her head was pounding from the drinks. Hastily, she grabbed her robe and pulled it on.
"Betty, you photographed wonderfully – I can tell. I can't wait to see the rushes and as soon as they're through, I'll call you and let you know what's happening!"
"I'm glad… glad…" Betty stammered. She didn't know what to say, and only wished that they'd go.
"Believe me, you're going to be a great success," Harvey assured her as he gathered his bags and equipment.
Almost in a daze, Betty said goodbye to them and watched them as they walked down the drive towards their car.
At last, when they were gone, she stumbled towards the bedroom and flung herself down on the bed, all the drinks she had consumed making her forget everything – her husband, her new career – as she fell deeply into a fitful sleep.