Miss Bathory's Latest Model {darkest_fate&DeRe}

This had to be one of the prettiest, most involved outfits that Sophie had ever gotten the opportunity to model. The whole affair just had so many layers and parts to it. Sophie could feel the hat pinned to top of her hair, which had been elaborately teased and curled. Bits of light sandy brown fell about her soft rounded face, making her feel so very cultured even with the light makeup. The girl looked the natural even without duplicating makeup that might have perhaps fit the throwback feel of the piece. With its intricate embroidery and billowy sleeves, the top part of the garb felt like a meticulously done throwback to some bygone era. Sophie almost swore that actual whalebones pinched her already trim waist into a near perfect hourglass. The corset certainly pushed her breasts, which were a healthy size for her slender frame, up all the further. A bit of Sophie's bikini-line tan did show, which had resulted in some early tutting from Miss Bathory, complaints about how it might ruin the overall picture and a strong suggestion that Sophie look into tanning nude in the future.

There had been similar comments made whenever Sophie's neatly trimmed bush had shown. The girl took care of her hair, but she certainly didn't want to shave it smooth: she'd heard about that and it just sounded a bit too daring for her liking. Besides, she'd already sworn to never model anything skimpy enough to warrant it. While her current outfit did end with a frilled skirt short enough to have caused fainting spells among those who would've been its contemporaries, it didn't show anything below her taut heart-shaped rear. Said rear happened to be split by a lacy white thong that parted her decidedly whiter cheeks almost too well. At least the lacy front covered the necessaries. The light pink frills worked well too. Sophie's impressive legs currently had a set of white thigh-highs that wrapped almost too enticingly around them. The cute little bows made her want to drop into adorable curtsies each time she looked at them.

And to think that she'd been nervous about this. Sophie had been in town for weeks now, desperate to find some modeling gig, regardless of its size. She'd left with some promises from a firm, and admittedly that first shoot had gone fairly well. But the sweet girl from a small town hadn't heard from them again. Which had left her nearly desperate and looking for a lifeline. When she'd gotten contact directly from a designer, she'd nearly fainted. When she'd seen the line, she'd gone into a fit. The phone had come out immediately for her to text her friend back home: BATHORY WANTS ME FOR A SHOOT!!!!. she hadn't even needed to see the details, all the promises of money and so forth. She'd have done this for absolutely nothing. Sophie had practically grown up watching Bathory's cutting edge designs. She and her friends had pretended to be the woman growing up, making dresses for each other and trying them on.

Sophie had totally made it.

Then she'd arrived at the relatively remote location, sort of surprised. But the setup was just gorgeous: an opulent mansion that dripped with class and red and gold and just everything that made a girl want to gasp and dip her toe in a pool of caviar. Then there had been Miss Bathory herself, all lean and sexy and confident. She'd practically swept Sophie up, ushering her into the depths of the house. Then a whirlwind of assistants prepping her while Bathory talked about how she'd wanted a fresh face and how Sophie looked like everything she could possibly want and how she'd fit the outfit they had just splendidly. There had been the slightly awkward moment when Sophie found herself effectively stripped by assistants so that Bathory could look at her nude body, hence why Bathory knew about the bikini tan lines and slight bikini bush. But Sophie had recovered. She looked good; Bathory liked her appearance. She'd rock this campaign and bring it home for her town.

They'd adjourned to a private room. Bathory insisted in the most minimal of crew. In fact, Sophie hadn't even seen the camera or lighting crew: just Bathory herself. There had been an initial exchange and then...

"Oh, something needs adjusting?" Sophie repeated, blinking. She ran her hands along her sides, smoothing out frills and looking around. "I don't---I guess if you want to come up and arrange it it's fine?" Sophie didn't know what else to say. She'd experienced similar things. Sometimes directors sprayed water at her or got a fan or insisted that she throw one leg over the other or something. So maybe Bathory just wanted to make sure the outfit rode just right?

Sophie just knew that she was definitely not going to screw this up. Whatever Bathory wanted or did, she intended to take. She'd wow this woman and be set. This was her make or break moment, and Sophie fully intended to be made.

Sunlight streamed in through the broad bay windows of an elegant bedroom. The golden rays lay like loving hands across the petite, naked body of Liz Bathory and slowly rose her from a vivid dream-laden slumber. Purring like a cat, she languorously stretched her perfect figure in the mid-morning glow, tracing blood red nails around shapely little breasts. She relished the sensation of her body's warmth, smiling broadly in satisfaction. This was already a delicious day, she reflected; and the best part was still some way off. Today she had plucked another rose, from whom she would pull every last petal until nothing remained but a naked bud helpless in her fingers.

Moving as ever with the grace and languidity of a woman of pleasure, she rose from bed and admired herself in a crystal full-length mirror. The room was almost completely drowned in toy dolls of all shapes and varieties, some centuries old. Barely enough room was left for the elegant Louis Quatorzian bed and other furnishings that gave the sunlit chamber every appearance of a palace. The dolls were a legacy of Bathory's earlier life; the mortal one from nearly a century ago, when she had been poor and paid for her bread by selling lookalike dolls to rich men's daughters - and her body to the rich men. That had been a dozen lifetimes hence, before she met Camilla, before she was initiated into the world of eternal vice she now enjoyed. But the dolls always remained; only now she played with and broke ones made of flesh and bone, not porcelain. Ever since then she had never need to trade her body for survival - it was the bodies of others she needed now.

This gilded, trivial age of blind ambition and sexual license suited her as well as the gloves she never went without. It had produced a host of shortsighted young women, desperate to rise above the peers and be celebrated for their youth and beauty. Bathory fed on these ingenues like a seagull on a scrapheap, exploiting their vanity to feed her own. Men had long since become nothing to her; only women - young, beautiful women - mattered now.

Wordlessly and with endlessly rehearsed smoothness, a team of her servants materialized to dress their mistress. For the delights awaiting her today, she chose her preferred business outfit - stockings and garter, a barely-there sheer black dress from Jean-Paul Gaultier, and a leather glove to protect her whip hand. She lay back on her bed, hands locked behind her head, and idly daydreamed about her new find as her maids rolled the black silken stockings onto her incredible dancer's legs, taking care to stroke and kiss their mistresses' thighs as they dressed her. Bathory stood up again as they passed her a pair of transparent black silk panties which she slid on, snapping the strap against her taunt hip, savouring the brush of the material against her sex. She wore no bra, allowing her pert and firm breasts to press aggressively against the sheer cloth of her dress. From her hip swung a set of apparently ornamental handcuffs and a sliver chain - although they were not only for show. A pair of designer heels helped emphasize her already eye-catching legs and world-famous bottom. Finally, she rolled on her trademark, a single long leather glove. Now, she was in costume and ready for her encounter.

Bathory had been genuinely stunned when she first saw Sophie. Even now she touched herself slightly in memory at the electric carnal thrill she had felt looking at the young girl's photos. Here was innocence without pretence; a sweet elfin smile hiding nothing from the world but a girlish desire to please. This divine creature had the face of angel and a body built for sin - exactly the kind of girl Bathory went weak at the knees for. Clearly she had never known heartbreak or hardship - certainly she had never frozen in a bare Paris garret, forced to spread her legs for a stale crust. Privilege and ambition had swept her onto the mansion's doorway. It was a tale the cynical domme knew well - the only rose in some isolated garden, the delight of her peers; now plucked and transplanted to a mess of weeds and thorns, struggling to be seen among far crueler competitors. She had no idea of the horrors the world was going to inflict on her, and Bathory could think of nothing sweeter than the look in those big round eyes when she tore the girl's life to pieces.

One of the maids - lithe and dusky with dark Slavic eyes - spoke in a quavering voice. "D-does Mistress wish me to pleasure her this morning?"

Bathory landed a hard, sharp slap with her gloved hand across the girl's face as she yelped in pain. "Stupid slut! I am saving myself for our guest." Curling her ruby red lips in disgust, Bathory sneered "Holly, you wretched creature, please grow a few brain cells and think before you speak." The sobbing girl had once aspired to Bathory's fashion empire, claiming herself a challenger. That had ended very abruptly with her career's engineered implosion, and now she was nothing more than her erstwhile enemy's plaything. Kicking at her with one of her heels, Bathory said "Get out of my sight, go make sure everything is in order." The wretched servant scurried away on all fours, desperate to be free of her sadistic mistress for even just a few hours.

For a woman nearly a century old, the morning passed all too slow. She tried to busy herself but the anticipation of Sophie's arrival was utterly distracting. Finally in the early afternoon she arrived - in a taxi, much to Bathory's amusement. From the moment the lovely young beauty arrived at the maison, the older woman played the role of kind and cheerful older sister, even mirroring Sophie's giddy laughter and amazement at this exciting occasion. She towered nearly a foot over Bathory, her perky round bosom nearly in the vamp's face as they stood in front of each other. They walked about the house, chatting airily about fashion and gossip, holding hands like ancient friends. Occasionally Bathory would brush her cheek, or gently stroke her soft auburn hair back behind her ear. She could tell Sophie was too spellbound by wonder to clearly focus on what was going on.

"And please, call me Mistress," Bathory said casually.

The undressing proceeded as smoothly as she hoped. Tanlines were a disappointment to her; they were a modern development which she felt ruined the essential purity of a naked body. But finally seeing Sophie's naked form in all its slyph-like wonder allowed her to easily ignore that concern. Bathory gnawed at her lower lip as her attentive girl servants rapidly stripped Sophie, then began dressing her in the lush silken outfit. When at long last, they were alone, as she took Sophie's hand and led her into her parlour, directly adjunct to her bedroom

Under the pretense of "adjusting" the costume Bathory disarmed the nervous model with her sweet, hollow smile and honeyed compliments. "Such a pretty girl, you are, Sophie," she cooed as she walked around behind her. Stepping on an ornamental stool in order to be roughly even in height with the lithe, lanky girl, Bathory started tugging and pulling at corners of the elaborate dress. "I'm very lucky to have you today". She rested her hands softly on Sophie's slender shoulders, and took a gentle nibble of her earlobe. "Such a pretty face, and a lovely little body." Bathory lightly touched the base of Sophie's neck, stroking the soft pale brown hairs that had come loose from her coiffure. She placed a few barely noticeable kisses along the top bumps of the girl's spine.

Easing her hands down from Sophie's shoulders, she giggled "Oh, your poor boobs look a bit scrunched, let me help you!' and slid her fingers inside the top of the dress. She cupped Sophie's breasts like they were fragile birds, feeling their incredible elastic firmness with a slight squeeze. "Here, let's adjust them a bit," she said, gently rolling Sophie's light brown nipples between two of her fingers. "I bet you got teased because these were too small, eh? I think they're just right." She traced her lips against Sophie's cheek, relishing the smell of her sweat and the cheap moisturer she washed with. "I bet you were just one of the boys back home, until they noticed you. Do you have a boyfriend, Sophie?" She gave her tight little boobs a quick squeeze and giggled. "Are you a virgin?"

The compliments caused Sophie to flush. Not that she hadn't heard such phrases before: so pretty, so elfin, so sweet, like a faerie breathed to life or a cherub allowed to dance on earth. The sweet girl tried not to let any of it go to her head but, well, when nearly everyone you met took it upon themselves to compliment you on your beauty, you had to be foolish not to notice. Few did so while running their finely manicured hands along Sophie's body. She could feel the dress tugging, pulling against her flesh with each little tug. It was all essentially as expected: Sophie knew full well that modeling required a little distancing between yourself and your actual body. If you didn't have that disconnect, you would soon find yourself feeling quite demoralized, what with all the touching and discussion of your parts as assets.

Much more surprising was that slight nibble. Sophie actually let out a little yelp at that, fighting the urge to squirm. Most directors didn't quite do that, though she'd found that some of the European ones did enjoy kissing a good deal. Sophie just figured that probably was what was going on with Bathory. The woman did proceed to kiss Sophie's back a moment.

"It does feel a bit tight there," Sophie admitted when Bathory drew attention to her chest. She willingly raised her arms, letting the older woman slide her hands into the narrow space between girl and bony corset. Sophie could feel those fingers gliding along her pert chest. The squeeze almost made her giggle: that was another fairly standard practice, albeit usually done through a bra. "Okay," came out as Bathory talked of adjusting. Sophie held still as the older woman rolled her fingers. It felt a little weird, particularly since the older woman seemed to much more thoroughly enjoy playing with Sophie's nipples. Maybe they'd been in the wrong place or something? Or maybe they stuck out a bit? Sophie could recall one shoot where she'd had to tape them down and another where she'd had to roll ice cubes to make them as hard as possible.

"What? Oh, no," Sophie said, shaking her head. "I mean, ah, no, they didn't treat me like one of the boys," she let out a giggle, shrugging, "I've always been way too girly to get that sort of treatment. I put on my first fashion show at the ripe old age of four and all." She let out another slight cry as she felt Bathory giving her breasts another little squeeze. "Plus, I was winning contests and stuff from a pretty young age, so there were always boys sort of interested in me. I had a boyfriend back home, before I, ah, moved out here. Of course we did some fooling around and, ah, stuff," Sophie flushed. Her brief experiences in sex hadn't exactly been what she'd considered thrilling. She'd read a few romance novels that talked about it as some sort of deep pleasurable experience. The few times she and her boyfriends had tried had been more awkward than anything. They'd gotten a little handsier than Bathory did now, fumbling about until their penises got out. Then they pretty much pointed at Sophie's pretty little body and let out their spurts. Or they asked her to kiss it or maybe suck a little or something.

"I think sex just gets in the way, really," Sophie insisted, nodding. "I'm far too focused on my career. That's why I'm here," she practically turned the last few words into a little song, adding another slight shrug before remembering that she should remain still while Bathory finished adjusting everything.

Bathory was only half-listening to Sophie's soft, girlish voice as she fondled the young model's breasts. The puppyish yelp she made as she Bathory nibbled her earlobe send a shudder of pleasure through the domme's tight, petite frame. Gently she felt the nipples harden in her practiced fingers, giving the taunt skin a little pinch before finally withdrawing her hands from Sophie's bust. Bathory's black heart began to pound a little faster as she listened to girl hesitantly explain her inexperience. The exhilaration of having a virgin (well, close enough) was a rare pleasure for her in this more jaded age. Certainly it would make Sophie's juices all the more potent and invigorating for Bathory.

A wry smile came readily to the older woman's face when Sophie airily spoke of how she ranked her career higher in importance than sex. The guileless honesty and innocent naivete were bursts of perfumed fragrance among the dank reek of Bathory's cynical cruelty. Part of her despised such ignorant simplicity; but another part of her found it almost endearing, in the way she would find a clueless little kitten chasing a piece of string off a table.

"All better," she whispered as she pulled the loosened bindings of the corset a little tighter to hold it in place. "Such a sweet bosom must be perfectly displayed, of course."

Carefully Bathory ran her gloved hand across the firm, shapely curve of Sophie's bottom. "Many hard hours at the gym, eh?" she giggled, slightly squeezing one of the tight little cheeks as if it were prize meat. "You bum is your best asset, same as me." Her other hand slipped under the short dress like a thief, and Bathory traced a finger around the strap of Sophie's panties, her nail gliding across the girl's bright youthful skin like a blade. "We must make sure you have the right underwear, and that it fits well, to complement such an exceptional posterior". Grinning to herself, Bathory fiddled with Sophie's pantyline, seeming to 'accidentally' bring her hand around the front between the girl's legs. Purring slightly to herself, she stroked the very top of Sophie's neatly trimmed bush, feeling the softness of the downy hair.

"You tell Mistress that this body - this young, firm, ripe body - has never known a proper orgasm?" Bathory asked the question casually, still maintaining her intimate, sisterly air. Her gloved hand reached around and gently clasped Sophie's throat, as tenderly as if she was plucking a rose. Her bare hand inched down between the girl's toned thighs, two fingers kneading the hard little bud at the crest of her velvet slit, while the other two stroked her quivering pussylips as if it were the back of a cat's head. "None of those clumsy, stupid boys ever touched you like this, did they."

Tightening her grip on Sophie's fragile neck just the slightest, Bathory began to lightly but steadily finger her fresh young sex. "I need my models to know passion before I can properly make use of them," she said in a drawling feline voice. "Tell me how it feels, my sweet Sophie. You must let Mistress inspire you before we begin properly." Bathory could sense the girl's heart pounding through the corset like a young deer's. Good God, she thought with narrowing eyes, but I want to drain this silly little bitch dry. Chuckling slightly, she kissed her neck again and whispered "You taste like strawberries, that suits you so much."

Sophie let out another little gasp as she felt Barthory pulling the corset back into place. She could feel it pinching her, somehow squeezing her modest bust up and nearly out. A little more unsteadiness leaked into her smile as she ran her hands nervously along her sides. It did feel slightly uncomfortable but, well, often that was what you had to endure when modeling. Just as she now endured the woman's hands sliding along her bottom. She could feel the fingers finding her soft, bared flesh. Then the comment, again complimenting Sophie on her meat in such a way as to make the girl flush prettily.

"Ah, thank you," she said, "though I always thought my eyes and face were a little better," she fought the urge to squirm as Bathory's fingers drew along her front. She could feel the nail gliding across her skin, just along her most sensitive areas. A little shiver took hold of the girl, making her fight another gasp. The finger had come dangerously close to her sex, close enough that Sophie swore she could feel it disturbing the tightly shorn curls of her pubic hairs. The woman spoke of her underwear, and Sophie again nodded. "Oh, I definitely make sure to wear clothing that compliments my figure. Like I said: I've got lots of practice," and perhaps a halfway decent collection of lingerie to match.

The girl's mind was on said collection as Bathory continued, and she almost missed the question. A proper orgasm? "I don't know if I'd say--" Sophie paused as a hand went to her throat. Obediently Sophie drew her head back, let the hand hold her there, even as she felt a few curls sliding across her face. Other hands teased along her thighs, moving up. She could feel them seeking out something between her legs. She thought it might be that the woman looked for her clitoris, though Sophie knew the little button to be tucked away behind a hood, somewhat difficult to find in a casual search.

"No ma'am?" Sophie tried, knowing she was searching for the appropriate response to the woman's question. She could feel the hand tightening as the finger started working. It felt, well, it almost felt as if Bathory started to... to finger Sophie. She could feel the digit sliding into her tight walls, feel the walls themselves responding, squeezing slightly. The woman continued, insisting that her models needed to know passion.

"I know passion, Miss Bathory, really!" Sophie insisted, nodding. "I'm quite passionate about modeling and the work and fashion and everything," she could feel the finger working, and then the kiss on her neck. That felt... that felt more than a little.. forward? "Um, shouldn't we be focused on the shoot?" Sophie asked, glancing over at Miss Bathory. "We wouldn't want me to have any marks or anything beforehand. Unless there's more adjustments you need to make to the outfit?"

Bathory's bottom lip curled as Sophie continued to chatter, her small ruby mouth pouting in irritation as she listened to the girl's breezy talk. The hunger was churning so hard within her she wanted to scream, and gouge bloody nail marks the length of this vacant trollop's slyph-like body. Releasing Sophie's throat, Bathory's gloved hand delivered a small but still stinging slap to one of her adorable cheeks. She purred "You call me Mistress, girl, kindly remember that when you're in my house," into Sophie's ear, brushing her lips slightly against the soft lobe. Then she curled her hand in the girl's silken light brown hair, wrapped the smooth shiny locks around her leather-clad fingers. When she had entangled herself tightly, she pulled Sophie's head back gently but firmly, almost resting it on her bared shoulder.

With accomplished ease Bathory slipped two fingers into the girls smooth, moist little slit. Nearly of century of practice had given her an ability to achieve miraculous things with her hand between another woman's thighs. She knew exactly where to press and where to stroke, what part to rub and what part to squeeze. Even when standing on a stool behind a taller girl, with her questing fingers buried blind in the latter's panties, she could still play Sophie like a well-tuned instrument.

With a quick flick of her tongue across the girl's reddened cheek, Bathory cooed "I'm sorry to lay hands on such a pretty face, darling, but you do understand I am a professional, of course." Stroking deep and slow into Sophie's tight velvet fold, Bathory gently brushed her face against the quivering model's, groaning softly in pleasure of the feel of the tender sex. How many dozens of hapless waifs had she brought in here? Had any of them been as divine as this toned and tanned nymph she now fondled? Truly sweet Sophie would be the finest addition to her collection in decades.

"So you know passion, eh, my little miss?" Bathory's mouth was just millimeters away from Sophie's ear, and her hot breath playing across the girl's flushed face. "Then show me what...you...know...of...passion" She punctuated each word with a thrust of her fingers, gently tightening her grip on Sophie's soft tumbling hair as she fingered her firmly.

But then, after vigorously pleasuring the lithe girl's body for a minute, Bathory abruptly ceased. "You will not cum yet, not until Mistress allows you," she said in a cold, hollow voice. Releasing her grip on Sophie, she took her glistening, sex-smeared fingers into her mouth and sucked them clean, giving a squeal of delight at the incredible sweetness of the taste. Stepping down off the stool Bathory kicked it aside and dropped to her knees on the thick scarlet carpet. Moving swiftly like a skilled tradesman at his task, she pulled Sophie's frilly, damp panties down to her tiny heels, sliding them over one of her feet. Standing up again, she twirled the panties around one of her fingers and gave Sophie a small push forward on her drum-tight backside. "See that lovely divan there, sweetie? Go and lean over the arm of it, where that fur is, there's a good girl."

The slap made Sophie gasp. She certainly hadn't been expecting that, particularly not to her face. Models could and likely would be touched everywhere. Heads altered, arms moved, legs spread. Once or twice Sophie had even had her rear fondled, and one particularly twisted photographer had been most insistent on her buttocks needing some color added to it (that shoot had been blissfully short). But none had dared strike her face, and the shock of that struck Sophie more than the blow itself. A hand yanked her head back, pulled her, made her arch. She heard the words and whimpered. "Yes mistress, whatever you say mistress," knowing that it sounded pathetic. But she needed this shoot: she'd never become anything otherwise.

That hand slid between her legs again. Sophie tried to push her thighs together, squirming as she felt heat pooling. That certainly couldn't be professional, and she so desperately wanted to prove herself as a model. But Bathory's fingers slid about Sophie's near-virginal sex, teasing the lips, pressing, gliding. Sophie felt them just flicking over a clitoral hood for a moment, before fluttering down. They'd dance among the petals of her sex, gathering moisture like a fluttering insect. Sophie couldn't even follow them with her eyes: eventually she'd given up, closing her eyes shut and letting the woman do as she would.

The lick drew them open, made her gasp slightly. "It's--it's alright, mistress. I'm a professional too, really!" she almost winced as she said that, particularly given that she kept squirming. She could feel the fingers pushing more and more. Felt the woman leaning over her. This... this really did not feel like preparation for a shoot. It felt more like when she got all hot and bothered with a boy and they started groping at one another. Was that what Bathory was doing? Sophie had heard about such things before of course. She'd sworn never to do that, never to spread her legs to guarantee a shoot. But this was Bathory; she made girls. Surely Sophie could just let her play around a bit. It wasn't like it didn't feel good.

Sophie nodded and let out a slight "Mhm" that sounded a bit more like a squeak or a moan. Heat had risen quick, leaving her quite flushed. Her heart fluttered faster than those fingers, pulse shooting throughout her. She could feel the hot breath upon her ear, teasing, promising. Each word got a shove and Sophie gasped, her eyes going wide. She could feel something, some tension gathering in the pit of her stomach. Did she have to pee? No, no, wait, it didn't quite feel like that. It felt a little different somehow. Sort of like when she'd been riding a bus and suddenly felt really good or when she'd been watching a certain romantic show with a pillow between her legs. Something like....

cumming? But Bathory pulled back. Sophie panted, feeling some wet gathering between her legs. She glanced over her shoulder, lips working, trying to say something. Glistening fingers came within inches of her mouth, the sweet yet musky odor wafting from them different than anything she'd smelled before. The woman moved, dropped, and Sophie was again gasping. this time she felt panties leaving. They parted her sex with an almost wet "schlick" sound, pulling at some loose pubic hairs for a moment before gliding down. A few smears of arousal dotted Sophie's legs then, and she flushed at the sight. definitely not professional.

"Yes mistress," Sophie said, following the order. She tugged the skirt down as best she could, moving to the couch. It felt weird, and her sex still felt way too hot and wet. But she bent over it regardless, tugging at the skirt to try and get it to cover her sex. She didn't want that exposed when she bent over after all. She was already pretty sure her bum was...

"Very good, Sophie", purred Bathory as the obedient girl took her position. She cocked her head slightly, idly chewing on the end of her thumbnail as she lovingly took in the sight of Sophie's perfect butt and glistening sex. The delicious little creature seemed even more inviting in her costume then she would be naked, with the fetishized outfit teasing all the best parts of her figure. Tucking the girl's panties in her garter, she continued. "We're ready to begin shooting now." She walked over to one corner of the room and produced an antique-looking camera from the shadows, resting on a battered wooden tripod. Bathory set it up at an oblique angle to Sophie, allowing a three-quarters shot of her posterior while also keeping a nice view of her body. "Don't let appearances fool you girl, things are not always as they seem." She smiled slightly to herself at that. "This battered old thing will do the job better than any digital contrivance, and your photos will look spectacular."

Bathory screwed the various parts of the archaic camera together, attaching a giant glass cube to the top. It looked like some outlandish sci-fi device, but when it suddenly came to life with a "pwoomf" and filled the room with a searing white flash, it seemed much more practical. Turning a timer dial on the side, Bathory set it to shoot a picture every ten seconds, the dramatic burst of light and sound beating out in a steady tempo.

"So let's begin," the sinister vixen whispered. She undid the clasp on her dress and slid the strap off her slender shoulder, letting the garment pool into a black silken pile around her heels. Bathory's petite, toned body now stood naked, save for her suspender belt, sheer panties, stockings and shoes - and the long black glove. Her tanned and taunt skin shone flawlessly everytime the flash bounced off it, with an almost unnatural vitality. Pulling the pins from her hair and slipping them into small loops on her garter, her blonde locks bounced free and she shook them loose with a languorous flick.

Slowly Bathory walked up behind Sophie. He gently lifted the hem of her skirt, eyeing her posterior with delectation. With a slight shove she pushed the girl forward over the arm of the chair, then reached around and grabbed her forearms, easing them back behind her. Pulling out Sophie's panties from her garter she then swiftly bound her skinny white wrists, twisting the elastic strap and knotting just tight enough to be slightly painful.

"Make sure the camera can see your face clearly, Sophie," ordered Bathory with a directorial tone. The flash continued to thump every ten seconds, illuminating the costume dress like a chandelier. It glittered and sparkled like a star-laden night sky as Sophie shuffled about, her breasts striving to break free. One of her stockings had slipped down to her knee, and Bathory stroked the quivering thigh with her fingertips. "Pretty little Sophie", giggled Kylie in a creepily girlish voice. "Face of an angel, body of a devil. You're going to go very far, my sweet."

Bathory leisurely sank to her knees once more, her skintight silken panties moving pleasingly between her legs as she spread them slightly. Wrapping her spidery fingers around Sophie's firm, youthful thighs, she began to lick the girl's glistening slit with quick, light strokes of her tongue. "Oh sweet Sappho," she gasped with a wry smile, "Strawberries and cream, just as I hoped."

With superior skill and practiced precision Bathory began to pleasure Sophie with her tongue. The older woman licked and sucked, flicked and squeezed, exploring every part of the girl's sex. Her speed and intensity began to increase as Sophie's juices start to flow, and Bathory grabbed Sophie's asscheeks with both hands, driving her scarlet nails hard into the firm flesh. "Mmmmm..mmmm..mmmmm," she moaned, lost in utter pleasure as she drank in the essence of the girl's youth. With her moist lips pressed firmly to Sophie's pussy she began to work the girl into a frothing orgasm, her tongue now driving full force between her legs.

Ready to... but her butt was practically hanging out! Sophie almost thought about pointing this out, reminding Bathory. Except... except there was just no way that the woman didn't know. She had to be able to see how Sophie was arranged better than the girl herself. So this was apparently what she wanted. Well, that wasn't so bad, was it? People did artful shoots all the time. It might even look a little coquettish, with her wearing the outfit and having just a bit of her slightly paler rear sticking out for people to ogle. Maybe that would be just the attention she wanted, needed. Sophie kept telling herself this as she watched the woman set up a camera. It did look old but, well, if Bathory was quite certain, she was the expert.

"Did you want me to--" Sophie began, only to stop and wince at a flash. Spots swam in her eyes for a few moments, leaving the young model dazed, blinking. She could see the flash of light flare up again, and only just managed to squeeze her eyes shut for the second. At least she looked away from there, trying to look ahead, to focus. Shouldn't she look at the camera? This all felt very strange to Sophie, irregular. Strange sounds drew her attention back, and soon her eyes widened. "Miss Bath---mistress," she said, swallowing, "why are you---you don't need to be naked for this, do you?" The hair fell, and there was something almost too sensual in the way the woman tossed her head. Sophie kept her attentions on the woman as she strode forward. Hands found her skirt. Pushed her forward. Sophie let out a gasp as she bent down, feeling her rear push even more into the air. There would be no hiding the lack of panties now: that softly rounded rear stuck out into the air.

"Miss, what are you--" Sophie began, only to wind up yelping as something wrapped around her wrists. Sophie could feel her arms wrenching back, felt the fabric pinch, holding her in place. An order to make sure. "But the flash---" Sophie began, squirming slightly. She swore she'd felt something shift around her knees. The woman spoke then, teasing, taunting Sophie. Then fingers again returned to her sensitive area. "um, mistress, that's rather---" Sophie began, only to yelp as she felt a tongue delving into her sex. The girl closed her eyes, trying to tell herself to just endure it. Sometimes this happened in modeling. Better it happened now, with a beautiful woman like Bathory instead of with some sort of repulsive man. Sophie could feel her sex heating rapidly, practically melting under the lashing tongue. The heat gathered more and more and she found herself fighting against the urge to squirm.

Each flash felt as if it shot into Sophie's brain as well. The girl found herself whimpering. "Mistress, I don't think this is very appropriate," she said, turning slightly. "Everything's sort of--- aaaah," the last came as she felt the tongue going further, harder. Nails dug into her soft ass, the woman delving a little deeper. "Mistress, please, I don't think we should, should be doing this," she started squirming, and soon found herself sort of flopping over. Heat and tension pooled below, just at Sophie's nethers. "Can we please stop?" She begged, squirming. "I really just want to model for you, really. I don't--" she whimpered again, feeling her body undulate yet again. This was just so intense, so very much not what she'd been expecting.

With her skilled tongue and firm lips Bathory teased Sophie's glistening, fragrant sex like she was lifting a feather on a breeze. The girl tasted like nothing she had savoured before; a kind of modern vitality imbued with an innate innocence. Bathory found herself becoming intoxicated in a way she had not felt for decades. Heady delirium swirled through her normally rational and clinical mind, and she found herself groaning and moaning in headless gasping pleasure whenever her mouth broke free of Sophie's melting pussy. The natural predator within cautioned her to be mindful as ever, and not lose herself in the act of drawing out the girl's essence. But the carnal, animalistic forces that had always driven hear paid little heed, and her muscular tongue continued to lash Sophie's clit mercilessly.

She could feel the girl dissolving in her mouth now like chocolate. Glistening juices ran over Bathory's small bump of a chin, and she was drooling uncontrollably as she drank them up. Her nails dug even deeper into Sophie's ass, one drawing a drop of blood. The small speck of red stood out on the pale ivory flesh. Through her hands she could feel the girl's body surrendering to her, the strength ebbing from her powerful thighs as she began to lose all control below the waist. But the sounds - it was the sounds she was making that exhilarated Bathory the most. The girlish squeals were beginning to give way to a woman's screams, with Bathory working Sophie's body like a musical instrument.

The seductive vamp had to gauge her moment carefully. Sophie had to be led tenderly and carefully to the most immaculate moment of ecstasy she had ever experienced, before Bathory could properly feed. To unleash her sweet agony too soon would ruin everything, not to mention the wretched girl would not stick around for a second chance. So Bathory had to hold her pleasure a prisoner as long as humanly possible, reducing the girl to writhing moaning mess before she could get what she really wanted. That would require more than her tongue was capable of, despite her gift for cunnilingus. Easing Sophie along a little more with a few delicate strokes of her tongue, Bathory then quickly stood up and stepped back slightly. She landed a hard, open hand slap right on Sophie's dripping sex, landing the full force of her fingertips on the girl's quivering clit.

"You little slut," she slurred, Sophie's juices still thick in her mouth. "You don't get to cum until mistress lets you, you...naughty...little...slut..." With each word, Bathory smacked Sophie's pussy again, landing a stinging blow exactly where it hurt the most. Wiping her gloved wrist across her face, she staggered slightly over to an incredibly ornate armoire on the other side of the divan. As she opened its doors the contents were fully revealed to Sophie. On one side hung an array of strap-ons in all shapes and sizes; on the other were a selection of whips in equally profuse variety. In the center of the armoire were shelves with a variety of small, ancient pornographic sculptures, and a relief bust of a stunningly beautiful woman - Camilla, Bathory's mentor and saviour, although of course Sophie had no way of knowing it.

"Now, then," said Bathory with a languorous sigh. She took one of the strap-ons down from its hook, a bright red specimen some ten inches long. "I think Cherrypopper is what we need." Carefully she looped the leather belt around her suspenders, resting the base of the dildo firmly on her own aching clit, feeling the silk of her panties pressed down into the flesh. Idly chewing on her finger for a few moments, she then chose a traditional riding crop from the selection of whips, and whacked it hard down on her gloved palm. "Yes, very good," she said with a delicate laugh. Turning around to face Sophie, she smiled sweetly at the helpless girl. "Now then Sophie, I'm going to fuck you silly. But every time you go a little too far, I'll whip that lovely little ass till you calm down. Understand?" Her smile expanded into a wicked grin as she slowly walked around behind the girl again. Pressing the dildo's head against the quivering slit between Sophie's sex-soaked thighs, Kylie drawled "Are you ready, princess?"