The J-Girl Model Ch. 02


The poignant tale of a normal girl and her dick girl boss unfolds, tracing four years of Hanako’s life. For new readers, although there is a bit of a recap, it will be hard to follow the story without reading Part 1. This part gets to the sex pretty soon, so you know what to expect.

I wasn’t the sort of model that wears haute couteur and struts along the runway, although I am tall. I won’t be found in a regular clothes catalog, they all said my breasts were just too big. I was a good girl that didn’t do porn, but I was a bad girl because I left home to be a sexy model. I was what we in Japan would call a gravure idol.

I suspect some girls attempting my line of work just get taken advantage of, usually by their boss. Fortunately for me, Akiko was my protector. She structured my schedule, planned my travel, and turned my photo shoots into good money. She would say it was my breasts that helped me break through. I would say Akiko was the dynamo behind my sudden success. She worked long hours to do everything behind the scenes. To say I was grateful did not begin to describe my feelings for her.

Physically, she was attractive from head to toe, she had a tight body, pretty eyes, sexy little lips. Akiko really was a sight to see in her schoolgirl outfits with legwarmers and pumps. She was a beauty but with a twist that I came to welcome.

In case I have to spell it out, Akiko isn’t your usual girl. Although she has all the supple curves and facial features you might expect of a woman, she also has a penis, complete with testicles (big ones). Even though my protector was mostly girl, she still could have and would have taken full advantage of me on the audition couch. She almost did, but I told her it would be wrong.

She gave me my space, instead filling the hours of my days with photo shoots, workouts, travel, and scheduled naps. Incidentally, these activities filled her days as well, leaving no time for her to find romance. All we had was each other. She got to see me posing provocatively, and I had the pleasure of her company. We buried our desire for months, which gave me time to appraise her character. As I observed her work ethic and skillful photography, my feelings for her grew. She showed me what a professional could do in freelance work, and set an example that filled me with admiration. A pretty girl gets a lot of promises of love and devotion from fans, but most of those are empty. I began to really see that Akiko was living for my sake, and my heart swelled for her. We were soon united in bliss and passion, but we kept it a secret.

As more months passed, I began to notice that some of her little quirks actually went deeper than I had initially been willing to believe. I already knew she was devoted to the silly ganguro fashion, always coloring her roots blonde and maintaining a deep fake tan. Actually, I liked her tan and her hair, but some other quirks were not so easily embraced. She could fill a swear jar just making small talk with a hotel receptionist, mortifying me. Also, she really did listen to Koda Kumi’s music, I sometimes noticed her humming along on her headphones. She didn’t care much to watch a lot of the movies that I liked, nor was I going to sit through “Battle Royale” with her. Our interests were like night and day, with only a little overlap where we could compromise.

Akiko kept me on a strict schedule on most days. We had travel and photo shoots, and when time allowed she had me perform fitness routines and yoga. She put me on a custom meal plan which let me eat lots of my favorite food, sashimi, but I had to cut back on white rice. When I was relaxing in my hotel room, she was taking care of the sales and copyright arrangements, getting me booked me in live appearances, and finding photo shoot locations near those travel destinations. For a girl with such a crass vocabulary, she was very professional about managing my time. If you only looked at her fake boobs, spray-on tan and schoolgirl outfits, you would probably think she was nothing more than a ganguro hooker, but she was actually a manager with first-rate organizational skills. She was also a real cosmetics expert, and she did my makeup and hair before shoots.

My job was relatively easy. I shopped for outfits, did all of my own alterations, and posed for the camera. I always wore something, because come on, we were not doing porn. Anyway, the magazines and web sites who usually bought my photos often had a look or a theme in mind, so I shopped according to their guidance. I started to collect swimsuits on the side, mainly because they didn’t take much room in my suitcase, and the skimpy ones really took some careful altering to fit me perfectly. Some were also very expensive, so I wasn’t willing to part with them after just one photo shoot. Still, there was no chance for me to wear them casually by the pool at any hotel. Akiko warned there could be paparazzi if I went to the pool or the beach. She was absolutely firm porno indir on limiting my exposure, so once every three months I did what she called a “special reveal” photoshoot. That was where I wore a stringy little bikini and released two or three sizzling shots to publishers, the kind that might get me on the cover of a magazine and lots of money.

To be honest, I was no longer worried about how much skin I showed. Akiko calibrated my exposure and public image. My desire, depending on what I was wearing, was to be that devil or angel fantasy girl that would titillate Akiko. I was confident that I looked sexy when I could tell Akiko was hard.

So there I was, posing for an audience of thousands, perhaps millions. Little did they know that I was thinking about a girl’s cock when I smiled at the camera. Every day that I lived the life of a gravure idol, I was that much less concerned over the traditional mores of my hometown with its aging population. If Akiko said something was okay, that was good enough for me.

My growing fan base was a mixed bunch. A subculture grew around a handful of doujinshi artists that drew me in pornographic fan comics. My audience ate it up, including scenarios where I was gangbanged, titfucking old geezers, getting anally raped by tentacles, and all the other boilerplate hentai. Akiko assured me it generated interested, but I didn’t like it. Gravure models rarely inspired doujinshi. We both knew the laws, though. In this case, we couldn’t sue because they claimed it was fiction about a big-breasted girl with a similar name and background, but not me. Of course, it was linked to from all of my major unofficial fan sites. Sorry, mom!

Among my so-called fans, there were many critics that insisted that my 90 cm bust was just a couple of silicone balloons, or that digital post-processing concealed the telltale signs of sag and wrinkling. Some vehemently disagreed, explaining that post-processing would conceal my faint veins. Some claimed that my veins were airbrushed on. Others argued that I had waited until my umpteenth implant surgery to begin modeling, and I was late to begin at age 25. Some speculated on my pre-surgery breast size, or worried that my breasts would soon sag like a couple of empty rice sacks. Some speculated that I had secretly given birth and was saving the milk. All of it was utter garbage. Still, they were fixated on my breasts, I supposed that was a sign of success.

Some critics accused me of secretly having a boyfriend, although none could provide any details or evidence – their continued accusations didn’t faze me in the least. They only served as proof that Akiko’s secret remained safe. Yes, the fact that Akiko had a penis was a fairly well-guarded secret. As far as my fans knew, I was utterly single. Some fans hoping to woo me sent me monetary gifts, and I made it known that I rewarded gifts with signed articles of clothing that I had worn – usually a T-shirt. The response was incredible at first, and I soon had a whole new wardrobe.

Although the money was good, the fame was simply a curse. Before long, I found myself unable to simply go to a cafe or a convenience store without being accosted, at least in Japan. Sometimes this was fine, but sometimes the men obstructed my path or followed me. I felt threatened, and so I tended to ride in the back of a vehicle with darkened windows. I tried to take martial arts but soon found that I just didn’t have the fortitude, and Akiko made me quit at the first appearance of scrapes and bruises.

Akiko often read me fan mail, ensuring that we kept in touch with what our customers thought, but some of it was absolutely awful. Other times, we received some serious messages. I remember the first time I got a request from a medical research foundation, and I was honored to make an appearance at a fundraiser.

Some fan letters stood out, especially the ones that contained a check, no strings attached. When making correspondence with some of these generous fans, I found that they were multi-millionaires who would pay in cash to have a personal, private meeting. Although they did not say it, I knew what would be expected of me if we met. It was unspeakable, even to my diary, to even consider such propositions. I always thought Akiko felt the same way, the way she laughed them off. Apparently, I misread her.

“You know, we’re going to be in that area in two weeks,” Akiko said after reading one such letter. “What do you think, want to tell him you’ll meet him?” It was barely six months into my career.

I laughed and looked at her, but she was serious.

“Akiko, you’re the only one for me.” I was so corny. “I couldn’t bear the thought of it.”

“Really? I thought maybe,” she trailed off.

“Thought what, darling? It’s not totally crazy.”

“Well, let’s say you see this guy one time. He doesn’t look that bad or old. Imagine, he pays us all that money, we tell him the rules, rokettube you play with his noodle, and then you say goodbye. When you come back, I’ll still be here. It’s just a shitload of money waiting for you to take it. More than that, you could make friends with a really powerful rich dude. You know, you might call him for a favor just a little further on down the road, and you’ll know he has a weakness for those fuckable boobs of yours. Isn’t that thrilling just to imagine?”

Not only was she fine with me having sex with other people, she insisted that I stopped acting like we were already married. We were lovers, but that didn’t mean we couldn’t see others. It shocked me that she might feel that way about me. After all, I never once noticed Akiko seeing anyone else. She was always in the hotel room or at most, she’d run down to the corner store and come right back.

She made me think about love in ways so different from what I learned at home. My mother didn’t get married, for example, but after me, she never married again. I know she had some admirers, especially when I was still young, but she turned them all away out of loyalty to a man who was dead. Likewise, my aunts and uncles for the most part stuck together, even if they could barely stand each other.

In stark contrast, Akiko would tell me that I should think about starting a relationship with some of the wealthy men, and encouraged me to allow any mutual attraction to evolve, even if it meant more dating and even marriage. Learning to accept that Akiko was willing to part ways with me helped me to understand a lot about her eventually, although I am ashamed to admit that I was still clueless at the time. I was more worried that she might be on the lookout for someone to be with, a fallback or a more stable companion. I wanted her to know I was stable, she wanted me to understand that we were not tied down.

She called it an open relationship, two words that I hated when put together. I came to know that she meant a lot of things by it, but not that she would ever, ever leave me hanging. I was also obligated to return her affection and respect her feelings, never trample on her in my rush to the door. It was so simple.

Thus, and with trepidation, I accepted that first offer, and other dates followed. They were some of the most powerful, wealthy men in Japan, and from those experiences I learned a lot. I started to specialize in a type of charm I never dared practice as a shop girl. The art of seduction is much more than just a pathway to carnal knowledge. I learned the time honored ways that women could seduce a man’s mind. After that, everything is easy.

When seduction is done properly, she first convinces him that she sees him as an alpha male, a dominant, masculine type. Once that is established, it becomes the pillar of his magnetism, and she lets him assume that it is the thing about him that she cannot resist. Of course, this technique is well known, but men are suckers for it, as long as you do a little acting and they have something to be proud of. Imagine, if you will, a man hits on a woman he has never met in a singles bar. Why is this so hard? Why the gimmicks and loud music, why does everyone gravitate to the liquid courage?

Imagine if a pretty woman could simply ask “What would you be willing to do for me?” as a response to any lame pick up line, without being called a gold digger. After all, that question could judge a man by his wealth, or his skills, or his words. At least he can decide how he wants to respond. No man feels proud to stand there telling a stranger how pretty she is. If men are not wholly independent, they should at least be agents of industry and progress. They should be planners, builders, managers, masters, then lovers. Imagine if young men, knowing precisely what women would ask of them, actively sought to better themselves in many ways, so that they would be ready to tell any lady what they were made of? I think in such chance meetings, expectations would be much better aligned, and some men would likely dispense with immature pickup lines altogether.

This is how I pictured the situation whenever I went on a first date. I asked him about his power and his successes. even if they were paying me and I was acting a part. I just went after the truth, and asked them about themselves. It was easy for these successful men to impress me. Then I would show that I had listened, and express how much I cared about their victories and success. It wasn’t hard, appreciating others is one of my stronger personality traits. Yes, I went to bed with them, and yes, I gave them whatever they wanted. They paid well and I enjoyed it. Usually, there was nothing more to say.

Akiko grew up in California for much of her childhood, and she spoke English fluently in addition to Japanese. She began to teach me English soon after we teamed up. Teaching a language sounds like a massive task, and it is, seks filmi but let’s not forget I already had a foundation from school, and we in Japan watch a lot of Hollywood movies with subtitles. Akiko wanted me to learn English because she believed I could break into American markets if I spoke well enough. It was a challenge, with so many beautiful starlets to compete with. Unless I got a little star power or fame in the US, I wasn’t going to get featured in FHM or Maxim.

Even with my slender body and curves, there was always a little room for improvement. In terms of fat, I was considered skinny and top heavy by American standards but by Japanese standards, I was almost chubby. I felt I was thin enough, and refused to starve and be twig-thin like an AKB girl. The scant fat that was on my ass and stomach was healthy, and besides, it helped my bust look its very fullest. What I could use a little more of, Akiko explained, was muscle tone.

Akiko became my trainer. Her rule number one was that running of any kind was to be minimized, and jogging was absolutely not allowed. It would strain my lower back, she warned. Additionally, it would permanently reduce my breast size, and build too much core muscle, which would widen my waist. She put me on a proper program of swimming, yoga, and leg exercises, the same as she had done to achieve her hourglass shape. I really admired her toned physique, although clearly petite, she had visible abs and her little waist flared out to muscular hips and a peach-shaped set of tanned buns. The goal of being toned like her motivated me to train, and I followed all of her instructions. It didn’t take long to start seeing results.

Two years passed, some of the happiest days of my life so far. For one thing, Akiko was helping me improve myself. I was in good shape, and I had also become proficient in conversational English, although my vocabulary was poor and my pronunciation still needed lots of work. My fan base had peaked and leveled off, and I was searching for something new to gently increase interest.

The several controversies about my breasts had all died down, as it became clear that they were real. Just as Akiko predicted, my fans were loyal. Then again, I suspected some had lost interest because they heard rumors that I was performing escort services for wealthy clients. I had been spotted at one or two events and parties, sometimes on the arm of one of these men or even a member of parliament. There were no photos and thus no proof, but Akiko needed to quell the negative comments, and any lie would do. She put out a statement that I had made several appearances for charitable causes, and while I am sure it insulted my fan’s intelligence, it muddied the waters and drowned out the voice of the critics. It sounds unfair, but that is show business. Other than that, the fans did not cause much drama.

Clients were a threat to my image, and Akiko was mindful of that. She often turned down dates for a variety of reasons besides that. For instance, a wealthy billionaire once wanted to fly me out to Dubai for one night. She turned him down politely, citing jet lag. The next day, a magazine we had never worked with contacted me (not Akiko, who actually managed everything) and asked me if I would do a photo shoot in Dubai. It was very fishy. Shortly thereafter, the billionaire asked me to visit again, and doubled his offered price. I asked Akiko to reconsider. She said she was pretty sure when they found T-girls in Dubai they got executed, but that I could go there without her. At this, I dropped the matter completely. The next time the billionaire called on me, I simply ignored him. She and I had a laugh about it over coffee.

During those two years, Akiko managed to arrange a dozen or so dates with clients, all of them Japanese men. Each was very different. All paid extremely well, about a million yen (ten thousand dollars) on average. All of them had been the architects of their own success, I had no stomach for trust fund mamma’s boys who had never worked.

Dealing with paying clients was financially rewarding, but it came with its problems. Calls from wealthy heirs and playboys were annoying in the extreme. Calls from places hopelessly distant were likewise nothing but disturbances, but we had to dismiss them politely. It even got to the point we turned the cell phone off every evening. Sometimes we missed good opportunities.

Akiko decided to find a special agent to handle the booking of my escort services. I don’t know how she found her, and to this day I have never met her in person or even seen a picture of her, but she became almost like a third member of our “team.” Akiko nicknamed her “Paizuri,” Known to others by many different names, Paizuri brokers dates on behalf of well paying clients who wish to meet only the most exceptionally attractive girls, including sit-com personalities and beauties so exotic and sought after, they are better off avoiding the limelight. We don’t know much about her other than she resides somewhere in or around Hakodate and she just loves her crab cakes and natto rolls with rice and seaweed. She sounds like a well-educated lady roughly our age or older, and we’re positive she’s got a Swiss bank account with a ton of money.

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