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High School Time Stop 18, Jezebel Rose

I had the best job in the world:

I was a prom photographer, at the mall.

Think headshots, only my expertise was in doing cumshots.

And you should see the girls that go through a cheap, five dollar studio like mine…

Young, naive, innocent.

Freckles, braces, lanky hair.

Awkward smiles, weird fashion, mothers in tow… and the dads, always waiting patiently outside. Clueless as to what’s really going on.

These were the kinds of girls who, if you told them to take off their jackets, they’d do so because they would’ve thought it was messing with the shot; and not because I might’ve wanted to stare at their perky little tits!

See, half the time, these girls didn’t even wear bras. … Hell, I’d be surprised if they even knew what bra size they were; these girls were so sheltered! None of them did any shopping without their mothers, there was no way. Their clothes were all mall bought… and looked so ‘off’ on them. But I kind of liked it. It tipped me off as to which girls were easy and which weren’t.

When one of them finally did come in with a halfway decent outfit, it was always the slutty girl. The look-at-me girl. The false confidence Queen, who was bound to get pregnant at the age of nineteen. Those were the best types. They’d do anything you asked, as long as they were doing it in front of a greenscreen. My dick was red raw from jerking it to those types of teens… Seriously.

… Yeah, every day was the same, man: get stoned, nut to a couple twin sisters, a few nerdy types (who were all secretly freaks because they knew how to browse the internet better than the rest), and then there were the ‘obvious prom Queens,’ layered in so much make-up you could paint a picture on a piece of canvas after touching their faces just once. Their muffs smelled the best, too… Like two hundred thousand dollars worth of private education.

Though the prom Queens were rare, in my cheap little corner of the mall, and I was lucky to see one walk into my studio without it being some kind of accident. (‘Hey, now, don’t worry. Sit down. Want a can of soda? I can call your mother for you. … Say, have you ever thought of modelling before?’)

But luckily, I had a whole catalogue of other options for when I wasn’t getting prime pussy: there were the dumb ones, the smart ones, the clueless asians, the thick, busty black chicks, the sexy little latinas and the gorgeous, frisky spaniards who’d been fucking since they’d been allowed to go out, ride motorcycles and smoke low-tar cigarettes.

I even got the occasional Muslim; and I am very proud to say I’ve covered my fair share of plump lips (peeking through the slits of a hijabi) in my load.

That was my specialty: facial cumshots. Every girl who came through my studio got one, even if she was a runt. I didn’t discriminate. Every girl deserves special treatment when it comes to their prom photo.

… Yeah, my job afforded me access to every type of newly-turned eighteen-year-old girl that America had to offer, and because of my terms and conditions, (‘participants must be over the age of eighteen to sit for a headshot’), they were all barely legal.

But, wait… I haven’t even told you the best part:

My camera was so advanced… it could stop time.

Please purchase this story and support me as an author! Thank you! ~ Jezebel Rose

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