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Jessica Robinson was sitting at the lighted vanity, staring at her erect nipples. A blush was spreading around them. It matched the blush which she couldn’t get off her face, no matter how hard she tried.

Her hands trembled as she tried to apply makeup to her face in a way which matched what the visage artist had shown them. He’d be going around later, inspecting each model and correcting their mistakes. She didn’t want him to linger on her. She was already on the verge of jumping up and running out. All models were expected to do their own makeup as the visage artist shows them, as it saves on time and cost. She had never before had any trouble with that. Her hands slipped and the eyeliner pencil traced a squiggly line extending from her eyelashes. “Damn it,” she muttered and reached for the makeup remover.

“Nervous,” asked the model seated at the vanity next to hers.

The patronizing tone of the woman’s voice forced all other concerns out of Jessica’s mind. “Excuse me?”

“You look like this is your first time on a catwalk,” the model said and turned her attention back to her own mirror to continue applying her mascara.

“I’ve been modeling since I was fifteen, thank you very much,” she said heatedly and immediately regretted her tone of voice. She certainly didn’t feel like she could use more attention on herself. Not with her titties out in the open like this.

“And how old are you now, sixteen?”

“Eighteen! Almost nineteen.”

“Easy, girly,” the model continued in a gratingly condescending tone of voice. “This show is the biggest chance a fresh face can get in this business. If you nail this show-“

“I’ve walked the runway at New York Fashion Week. This is nothing new to me.”

“Alright then,” the model said and turned her full attention to her own mirror.

Jessica’s fists tightened and then relaxed. She needed this job. There had been jobs aplenty when she had been the new thing, the fresh face. Lately, she was considered experienced, which was fashion speak for old news. She was doing more catalog shoots than runways, which was the undeniable sign of a modeling career coming to an end.

Her eyes fell down to her bare titties again. They’d be bouncing as she walked the runway. The choreographer had insisted. “Energy, energy, energy! I want you striding down that runway!” Bouncing unrestrained and uncovered for all the world to see.

As nervous as she was at the mere thought of that, she couldn’t deny that there were also pins and needles running up the insides of her arms. The kinds she got right before the first time she had been kissed. Or three months ago, when she finally did it for the first time with her boyfriend. She drew a deep breath and ignored those memories. There was makeup to apply.

As she was applying her mascara, her eye was drawn to the curtained off areas in the corners of the prep room. Those had always been her allies, her best friends. She’d go into them in her own underwear and come out in the outfit she was modeling. No one was allowed to see her naked. An assistant could only enter if she specifically called for her, which she had never done.

Whether Jessica had been going to a casting call, doing a photo shoot, or walking the runway, no one had ever seen her completely naked. Always, she had been wearing underwear of her own choice, or the piece she was modeling. The line between herself and nudity had been thick and impassable in her own mind.

She looked down at her feet. Her purse was sitting half-open, her clothes visible. Jessica reached down and touched her black bra. It had been her lucky charm which had clinched castings for her. It had been her work uniform and her armor against any moralizing. No one could call her nude as long as she had him with her. But now he was in the purse and she was bare. Another shudder ran down her sides. It wasn’t completely unpleasant.

The visage artist was coming closer on his rounds and she forced herself to finish her makeup. She told herself she wouldn’t feel terribly embarrassed on the catwalk as the audience was always in darkness, all the lights would be on her. Yeah, illuminating my titties for all the world to see, she thought glumly.

A thought came to her. With such illumination, her tits were certain to look good. She was nearly stunned by it. Could she actually find something positive in being exposed before hundreds of eyes? In having her naked body photographed for countless thousand to see in print? In having her nudity eternally available to anyone with an internet connection?

The visage artist quickly corrected a few details on her face and then she realized the wait was over. They were called to line up for the first outing. The choreographer was there, reminding the girls to, “Crackle and pop, ladies! I wanna see you bounce with energy!”

Jessica wanted to sock him in the mouth. When her eyes settled on the stairs to the catwalk, her breath escaped her. She struggled bayburt escort to draw another one. She could feel beads of sweat running down her bare skin. She wanted to throw up. Longingly, she glanced at the changing areas.

The designer was suddenly right in front of her, doing his final inspection. God, she wanted to spit in his eye. This was all his fault. His fancy-schmancy artsy-fartsy high concept of having the models walk topless. Avant-garde, my ass! How the hell does he expect anyone to even see his creations when all eyes will be on bouncing tits? She half wanted to run back to her purse and call her boyfriend to come and explain to the designer how straight guys think.

Of course, naked models draw publicity and that was the whole point. The target customers were also women, so men’s views are irrelevant. The designer tugged on her skirt a few times and gave it his nod of approval. In less than two seconds he was on to the next model in line. Jessica shook her head. The depths she was sinking to and the man didn’t even spare the time to thank her, or look her in the eye. If she didn’t need this job, she’d turn on her heels and leave right this instant. The music came on, a slow, sensual track, and the lights dimmed outside. The time has come. Her heart pounded in her ears. She struggled to draw a deep breath. She could feel her nipples tightening until she could feel the air against them, despite the lack of any breeze. The first model ascended the stairs and vanished from Jessica’s view to walk the runway.

Jessica wiped her sweaty palms against her skirt. A gasp in her ear made her jump. An assistant was right next to her, glaring. “Don’t wipe your greasy palms on the outfit,” she hissed and bent closer to inspect the sides of the skirt. Finding no visible smudges, she straightened up and shook a warning finger at Jessica. Jessica gulped and nodded.

The line moved forward, bringing Jessica closer to the stairs with each passing moment. The wait was the worst. There were six models between her and the stage stairs and their exit was being staggered by ten seconds or so. Half of her wished it would be over already, half of her wished the moment would never come. Pins and needles ran up and down her sides.

Her breath caught in her throat again when the first model came off the stage. Jessica’s eyes were peeled to the girl, searching for any sign of…she wasn’t sure what. Rotten fruit? Embarrassment? Delight?

Jessica frowned. Where did delight come from? Why would the girl feel delight after walking half-naked in front of hundreds of strangers? The model was rushed to a changing area, accompanied by the hushed praises of the designer. The first models would walk three outfits. Jessica was only slated for two. Another sign she definitely needed a gig like this.

The line inched forward, bringing Jessica closer to the catwalk. She blew on her sweaty palms, even though she felt like she was short of breath. A random thought made her feel like her insides were falling out. What if she fainted on stage? Certainly, that would bring a lot of publicity to her, but in the fashion business, there was such a thing as bad publicity. If a designer felt like they would look incompetent for hiring fainting models, then they would never hire a model that fainted once. Snorting coke made you edgy, cool. Fainting made you weak, pitiable. Unable to sell anything to anyone.

She wanted to pray for strength, but she couldn’t remember how the prayers went. Art-Father, help, or something?

The model in front of her ascended the stairs to to catwalk and struck a pose. Jessica stared at her like a drowning person would stare at a flotation device. The choreographer and designer were there, speaking instructions into Jessica’s ear, but she couldn’t hear anything over the whooshing in her ears. Then the model strode off down the runway and out of Jessica’s sight. Jessica felt suddenly abandoned. Her eyes darted to the men beside her. They were looking expectantly at her and she nodded.

The choreographer put his hand to the small of her back and her whole body tensed. The touch seemed to send waves of heat radiating across her bare skin. He gently guided her a little to the side to let a model come down from the catwalk. Jessica’s roving eyes searched the woman’s face for any sign of terror.

“You’re up,” whispered the choreographer and gently pushed Jessica up the stairs.

Mechanically, Jessica strode to the starting spot and struck a pose. It was not her best work ever and she knew it. Her heart was racing madly as her eyes darted to the side, to the darkness which hid the audience. She couldn’t see anyone’s eyes, but she could feel them. They were on her bare flesh, setting it on fire. Her face was burning and she could feel a matching heat radiate from her erect nipples.

Years of modeling experience took over and forced Jessica to get back on track. She drew her eyes back to the catwalk stretching out bilecik escort in front of her and tried to count out the beats she was supposed to wait before walking.

Standing there, exposed to all eyes, she didn’t know which was more embarrassing; people staring at her bare breasts, or people ignoring her nudity to look at the skirt and high-heeled sandals she was wearing. She looked at the other models walking towards and away from her and envied them. They looked like it was just another day for them. She could almost think they were enjoying this.

A model coming back down the runway reached her and she realized that was her cue to start walking. She took a few hesitant strides, throwing her hips around like a beginner on her first casting call.

Her mouth fell open with a gasp. She was wet. She could feel her thong panties rubbing wetly against her engorged labia. She couldn’t believe it! There she was, embarrassing herself in front of an audience of fashion editors and clothes buyers and celebrities and other models and she was…aroused?

With each step she took, it was becoming more and more clear; she was turned on. Instead of dying from embarrassment, she found herself enjoying the feeling of the spotlights on her skin. On her titties. She could feel hundreds of pairs of eyes on her. She felt like they must be able to see what she was feeling. She was bare before them, after all. She had nothing to hide herself with.

Oddly enough, she didn’t feel like covering her tits with her arms and running backstage. A part of her wanted to do it, but that part wasn’t in charge. Her body was running on autopilot, striding down the runway, swaying her hips and making her titties bounce. She was sure she looked lewd moving like that, but she couldn’t bring herself to stop it. It was making her skin break out with a million tiny kisses.

She came to the end of the runway and struck another pose. She smiled. The pose she struck was within the limits of decency and professionalism for a runway model, but the smile on her face certainly wasn’t. She couldn’t hide it anymore. The arousal was too strong. If one of the photographers stopped snapping photos and climbed up to have his way with her, Jessica wouldn’t so much as look at him wrong.

She stood there and twisted her body from one pose into another, basking in the flashes of the cameras. They were making her feel feverish. She knew she should feel shame at exposing herself so lewdly, but she couldn’t make herself care. A drop was running down the hot skin of the inside of her thigh. The very thought of her juices dripping out of her in public like this was almost enough to make her scream. It would be a primal, mating scream, like on Animal Planet. She wanted to do it. Her smile became almost feral.

Too soon, the flashes stopped. She could see the faces of the photographers despite the glare of the lights. They were slightly confused and hesitant. As she turned into her next pose, she saw that the next model was right behind her, almost scowling.

The scowl felt like a slap across the face. Jessica smoothly strode away from the spot she had been hogging. As much as she hated relinquishing the attention of the photographers, there were still hundreds of pairs of eyes to either side of her. Her ears still whooshed with each heartbeat as she walked back to the beginning of the runway. Her breath was coming fast, however. Fast and deep. The heat across her skin was definitely pleasant. She could feel a few beads of sweat trickling down her body. They made her think of when actors in erotic movies run ice cubes across each other’s skin. Pleasant shivers ran down her spine.

Too soon, she was back at the start of the runway. She struck her final pose, held it a moment and then stepped off.

Returning to the darkness of backstage felt like plunging into the cold, dark sea after a day in the sun.

“Get it together,” hissed the choreographer. The designer shot her a glare, but thankfully remained with the model whose outfit needed some kind of adjustment.

An assistant ushered Jessica to the nearest unoccupied changing area and hung up her next outfit; riding trousers with matching boots and a messenger bag. The assistant drew the curtain closed behind them.

“I don’t need help, thanks,” Jessica said and reached over to open the curtain.

The assistant gave a dismissive grunt. “Boss says you do.” Jessica stared at the older woman. The woman hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “After that walk, they don’t trust you to drink a glass of champagne on your own, let alone change outfits. Come on!”

The woman bent down and grabbed the zipper on Jessica’s skirt. Jessica realized the woman would surely be able to smell her arousal if the skirt came off. “Wait,” she cried, but it was too late. The skirt was unwrapped from her hips and cold air blasted the furnace she had between her thighs. Jessica could feel her clit emerge from its hood and this burdur escort stunned her.

The assistant knelt down and grabbed Jessica’s calf. Jessica was horrified. The woman’s face was but inches from Jessica’s soaking wet thong panties. Surely, she could smell it. Surely, she can tell what’s going on.

The woman looked up at Jessica and tapped the back of her calf. “Up!”

Jessica felt another wave of heat rush across her flesh as she meekly raised her leg to let the woman take off her sandal. Even with her thigh slightly elevated like that, surely the woman can smell it. Smell her dripping pussy. Jessica pressed her mouth to her bare shoulder to keep from groaning out loud.

The woman took Jessica’s sandal off and grabbed her other calf. Jessica hurriedly obliged. The woman held out the riding trousers and Jessica eagerly stepped into them. She caught a whiff of her own arousal and froze. She knows, she thought. She can smell me and she knows!

The woman pulled up the trousers, buttoned them and left it to Jessica to do up the zip.

Jessica sighed. As soon as the show was over, everyone was going to know she got hot on the catwalk. Everyone. There was no way the woman was going to keep such a juicy bit of gossip for herself. The entire industry is made up of terrible gossips. As she stepped into the boots, one by one, she wondered if this would be a good thing for her flagging career, or not. How would the industry respond to a model being aroused on the catwalk?

With the boots and zipper done up, the assistant handed Jessica the messenger bag and pulled open the curtain to go help another model change outfits.

Jessica lifted the strap of the messenger bag over her head and lowered it to settle down between her breasts. Immediately, all thoughts of gossip and career vanished from her mind. The arousal came back in full force and she nearly skipped to her place in line for the runway. The soft, leather strap rubbed against the insides of her breasts with each step. Once she was standing still, she drew deep breaths to keep the strap caressing her.

A big smile crept on her face as she stepped closer to the catwalk stairs and the start of her second topless walk down the runway. The anticipation left her so giddy she completely blocked out the harsh words of the designer and choreographer.

She stepped out onto the runway and struck her pose. The arousal truck her with renewed force. As she walked down the catwalk with the strap caressing her bare skin, she felt like she was definitely doing something wrong, something forbidden. It felt like she was being caressed b a lover, right before everyone’s eyes. She could feel her clit sneak out of its hood again and rub against her wet thong. It sent small explosions of color up her spine.

By the time she reached the end of the runway, she was genuinely surprised she had managed to stay upright. Her knees were so close to buckling under the weight of the pleasure that was coming from between her legs.

The flashes blinded her eyes and seemed to also blind her reason as she grabbed the strap of the bag, seemingly to innocently adjust it. She ran the strap over her breast, touching her erect nipple and flicking it with the taut leather. A small moan of delight escaped her lips. She had never before felt so good, not even when she had had sex with her boyfriend. A hand let go of the strap to slide down her stomach. It left goosebumps in its wake.

She thought she saw a pause in the camera flashes and that sobered her up. What was she doing? Was she really going to touch herself in front of all these people?

She struck a final pose and turned to walk back. With each step, she came to regret the experience coming to a close. She wanted to stay there and bathe in the lights and the unseen eyes watching her.

Twice, her step faltered and she almost turned back around. Twice, common sense and shame managed to prevail, but only barely.

A curt, “Well done,” greeted her as she came off the catwalk. She waited backstage for a few minutes and then climbed back up for the finale. Despite being surrounded by dozens of topless models, she still felt like all eyes were on her. Her arousal ramped back up to the point that she was glad when the designer was done bowing and basking in the applause and let them all go backstage. A mere moment longer and she couldn’t have stopped her hands from wandering south.

She was eager to get out of the trousers, mostly because she suspected she had left her scent on them and she didn’t want to be around when that was discovered. She slipped into a fresh pair of panties and then paused. Her lucky black bra was in her hands. If she put it on, she would no longer be exposed. The arousal would go away.

She saw the assistant who had helped her change outfit out of the corner of her eye. A model bent down to let the woman whisper something in her ear. They both laughed after that. Neither looked Jessica’s way, but she was sure they were laughing about her embarrassment. What else was there?

She tugged her bra on and got dressed as fast as she could. She didn’t bother with removing her makeup. She grabbed her things and rushed out of there as fast as she could.

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