Sissy had been introduced to Dagger George by her cousin, Millicent. Millie had never had much money, but she always got by. Dagger George would make sure she had money for rent and food, though he never let any of the girls know how much money he raked in from their photographs.
‘Course, Dagger George was an ironic nickname. George hated violence. The name was on account of the daguerreotypes he’d started his business with. Gentlemen would pay a pretty penny in those days for just a glimpse of bare flesh – a flash of a nipple or a bit of notch. But times changed, daguerreotypes went out of fashion, and the discerning consumer wanted a bit more “bang for their buck” as the Yanks would say.
That’s where Sissy came in.
“I think kneeling is best, Sissy,” George said, manoeuvring his camera equipment to get the best lighting. “Maybe tip your head back?”
Sissy shifted down onto her knees, closed her eyes and bared her throat, while Eric dug his fingers into her soft, blonde hair. His cock was buried in her mouth, right up to the balls, while Harry Mickle beat himself black and blue beside her. George never got involved. He never got a hard-on either. He was too focused on his art.
“Bloody hell, Sissy, slow down,” Eric said, shifting back and forth on his feet. Harry laughed. She could hear his slick fingers slapping at his flesh as he watched.
“Do you think you could touch yourself, Sissy?”
She did as George said, moving her hand to her bare notch. She’d used a pair of scissors to cut all the hair ’til it was just a dusting, the better for the photographs, which had made Millie snicker and ask if she wasn’t cold, to which Sissy replied that Millie was welcome to feel for herself whether it were cold between her legs.
“Christ, Sissy,” Harry said. “Jesus Christ, Mother Mary and his fucking dad the carpenter.”
A moment later, Sissy felt his fluids hit the side of her face, and her shoulder, and her thigh. She heard the pop and saw the flash as George took his photograph. The technology he’d developed, what he called “action shots” was something else. He should have been making his fortune on the international scene, that man.
“Perfect! Absolutely perfect. Thank you, gentlemen. Sissy, you are such an actress.”
Sissy grabbed hold of Eric’s cock with her fingers, gripped it hard, and moved her head back and forth. She’d always liked Eric. She heard him cursing as he got near, moved her free hand against the soft flesh between her legs. She liked the feel of her notch without hair, somehow liberating. When Eric sprayed the back of her throat with his seed, she just sucked all the harder, listening to him whine as the pleasure turned to something a little more. She didn’t care, she was enjoying herself. Finally, her own body started to buck, and she let Eric go, watched him stumble away as she quivered and lay back against George’s couch.
“Are you all right?”
She forced her eyes open and looked up at Dagger George, nodded, starting to shiver with the sweat. She’d once made her living shovelling horse shit up the Cambridge Road. Working for George paid better, and she enjoyed it.
“Same time tomorrow?”
She grinned and nodded, her hand once again going to feel the smooth skin between her legs.
Written for Masturbation Monday Week 128. If you haven’t already, head over there for more wonderful stories!
Hi everyone, I’m back with a bit of Victoriana for you! Sorry for the complete radio silence. Things happen. Also, check out the gorgeous girl in the feature image. Can’t see her? Click here (this image is licensed to me, so you can’t use it elsewhere, just so you know).
Oh, wondering what a “notch” is? Here are some more Victorian vagina names.