Published:
February 22, 2024
Modelsklavin
The idea for this book was born on a sandy beach of our island. Not far from the spot where we had spread out our blanket, there was a small photoshoot happening at the time. Since not only our cats are curious, we also risked taking some glances from a safe distance. Two models had to strike various poses before a photographer. While one was being photographed, the other stood with another woman somewhat apart and I noticed the very clear corrections of her poses.
That's when my imagination immediately started running a whole film which then ultimately became the template for this book. Enriched with some ideas that came to me while writing, this work emerged. Alone the sales figures and the nice feedback propelled this book to third place among my most successful books.
Chapter 1
Only a few minutes remained until my birthday. Then I would finally be of age. I had been waiting for this day for many years. Since I started posing as a model next to school, my father had arranged the assignments for me. It had begun at the tender age of 14. Unfortunately, it hadn't brought any worthwhile jobs yet. Either my father was always outwitted in negotiations or I simply wasn't interesting enough for better-paid jobs in the fashion industry. When I started, I still dreamed of assignments by famous designers and photo shoots in bikini underwear in the South Seas. However, so far it had only been cheap fashion chains in weekly flyers.
The dream of the South Seas and bathing suits turned out to be a small studio in the courtyard of Cologne. There I stood for several hours in an absolutely unattractive swimsuit in front of a green screen. The sun was simply a very bright lamp, angled from above. My father as my manager was a disaster. Every time he insisted that as little skin as possible of my figure should be shown. Best of all, I made advertising pictures for a bikini in a thick fur coat. Thus, I could earn no money at all. Naturally, I wasn't allowed to do any nude or semi-nude photos. For that, I was still too young, but not even normal clothing like you can see in any public pool was allowed.
Even my classmates who knew about my modeling activities could only laugh at me. Among the boys, I had already been a failure for a long time. My girlfriends were already in bed with their boyfriends, talking about their first time, and I would have been happy if even one classmate had kissed me. Nothing was allowed to me at all. After school, my father took me to the fitness studio or yoga so that I could maintain my weight, and they even measured my meals so I didn't consume unnecessary calories. At least I was allowed in the summer to go into the sun. If I had had light skin, that would have been forbidden too.
Fortunately, I had a wonderful dark complexion, which wasn't particularly difficult. My mother came from Cameroon and my father was a Nordic light from Norway. Therefore, I wasn't too dark, but also not too light. The sun couldn't do much to my coffee-brown skin, so at least in summer I could go into the sun. I had repeatedly tried to make it clear to my father that I wanted to earn some pocket money with my photos at least. I certainly couldn't show myself naked, but at least normal photos in a bikini would have been at least a way to be paid a bit more, but as his daughter, I should best be photographed in a hijab.
Therefore, I was excited like a little child about my 18th birthday. Then I could negotiate my own contracts and show myself in bikinis. Depending on how much money the semi-nude photos brought me, I would even stand topless in front of the camera. That's all I really wanted to show, at least I wanted that to be on my demo reel. And I wanted to get rid of my priggish father as a manager. With the pictures from my modeling job, I then wanted to pay for my tuition fees and afford a small apartment. That was at least my rough plan, and punctually at midnight I sat in my childhood room and popped the cork of a small champagne bottle.
With champagne in a paper cup, I raised it to myself. What could stop me now? My father didn't know yet about his luck, but as soon as it came to my next job, he would have served as my manager. After half a bottle of champagne, I fell into my bed and slept off with a happy smile. Just six hours later, however, my hated alarm clock pulled me out of sleep with an incredibly nerve-wracking beeping sound. Totally exhausted, I stumbled into the bathroom, brushed my teeth, and jumped under the shower. Unfortunately, the water couldn't wake me up from deep sleep.
My parents were still asleep. They would get up in an hour. I was old enough to make myself breakfast and then go to school. On this morning however, it didn't bother me at all. It was a completely new feeling of life for me. Even the class assignments I could now sign myself. With my 18th birthday something changed in life. Although I absolutely hadn't slept well and deep rings were already visible under my eyes, I was looking forward to my friends at school. On the way to school I tried to keep my eyes closed a little longer, but I was so hyper that not even thinking about relaxation was possible.
On the schoolyard, my best friend Karola greeted me, who immediately jumped into my arms, lovingly squeezed me and then said, "Heartfelt congratulations on your 18th birthday, Haley. How was your small private party?"
"Thank you, my love. My little private party was probably a bit too long," I laughed and pointed to my dark circles under the eyes.
Karola burst into laughter and snorted, "Shall I get hemorrhoid cream for you? According to all the models, it helps with dark circles."
"How do you know that?" I asked laughing.
"Hey, my best friend is also a model. She has already told me about it."
I liked this most about Karola. We didn't take ourselves too seriously and could laugh at such jokes. So far I hadn't needed such cream. I had slept long enough and hadn't really had much to do. On weekends there was once a small shooting or sometimes in the afternoon, but these were smaller assignments that hardly brought in any money. The last ones were some advertising photos for socks. These were the worst photos you could take. They brought almost nothing in and yet you were occupied with them for a few hours. But I already knew this from my father. For sock photos there wasn't much skin to show. So exactly what he liked best.
Even my classmates congratulated me on my birthday. Even the teachers made an effort to congratulate me on my majority. Naturally, there was no party and only Karola had bought me a small gift. I got a small silver chain with a pendant. Inside was a small grain of rice with my engraved name. She had saved it from her pocket money. That wasn't really much, but the gesture counted far more than the material value of the chain. I put it around my neck immediately and thanked my best friend enthusiastically. For the afternoon I had planned a small party with her.
When I came back home in the afternoon, my mom was already in the kitchen with a homemade cake. She had inserted 18 small candles into the cream and lit them just before I got home. My relatives were only scheduled for the weekend, even though I actually didn't want to see them. They never stood on my side and only showed up when there was something to celebrate. Usually it was just about a big joint meal and I was always accused of being ungrateful. Of course, I was ungrateful. I wanted to earn money with my modeling jobs to support my family, which was always prevented by my father.
Was it really so terrible to show up a little more lightly dressed? Even in TV commercials you can see tits everywhere for shower gels or other nonsense. Why? Because it simply worked. Sex sells! That had been known for centuries and was constantly pushed higher and higher in advertising. But that I shouldn't or couldn't show my tits was already over some hours before. With the next offer that came in, which involved taking off my top for advertising photos, I wouldn't hesitate even a second. Then money would finally get into my otherwise always empty pocket.
My mother was more or less indifferent to this. But she simply couldn't stand up to my father, whom I had made my manager out of youthful stupidity. Maybe she didn't want to either. The longer I thought about it, the more I felt that my parents' marriage had been on the ground for years and they just held on because of me and my brother. But he had already moved out two years ago. Back then he turned 18 and a week after his birthday he packed his things and disappeared. My parents didn't even know where he was anymore. I, however, knew it quite precisely. We still kept in touch via text messages.
If I had earned enough money with my assignments, I would have moved out by the evening at the latest. Unfortunately, I couldn't even afford it in the slightest. Life was simply too expensive and my fixed costs would exceed my income by a factor of 300. I was forced to stay with my parents. At least until I earned enough money with my modeling jobs. When that would be, was written in the stars. If I could earn enough money at all. That was my goal, but despite that, I should start university after my graduation. I already knew exactly what kind of university I wanted to begin.
I wanted to start a fashion design study with my diploma. The only downside to this study, however, was that it was offered at the university in my hometown. So I would have to live with my parents for a very long time. That somewhat spoiled the overall impression. But maybe I could also fulfill my big dream and enjoy my life as a model, travel the world and earn a lot of money. My mother stayed a little with me at the table and asked me about school. Naturally, she wanted me to not neglect school alongside my job as a model.
I could promise her that. In my age it was important enough to have prospects for the future in my pocket. I had two ways and I would certainly take one of them. Fashion interested me anyway, even though I couldn't afford anything special in that direction with my narrow pocket money. With that, my mother was already satisfied and we celebrated my majority with a cozy coffee. In the afternoon Karola came and absolutely had to eat a piece of cake. My mother insisted on it, even though my best friend didn't particularly like chocolate cake.
Karola was so to speak a bit weird when it came to food. While I loved to stuff myself with the sweetest things and then have to suffer in the fitness studio to keep my weight, she was clearly healthier of us both. She nibbled on vegetables or fruit and paid close attention to her nutrition. She didn't need to train to maintain her figure. I found that a bit meanly arranged by nature. While I burned off the extra calories again in the gym, she sat on a chair and played chess against others. That was her sport. She also wanted to play chess with me once, but this game I would probably never learn.
In the early evening my father came from work and disturbed us in my room. We were just talking about a boy at school who had left a deep impression on Karola when he suddenly stood in the door. As a gift I received from him an embrace and a small envelope. I thought it was a money gift for my birthday and happily opened the envelope. To my disappointment, however, there was neither a banknote nor a check inside. It was only a greeting card for his 'dear daughter' and the registration form for a driver's license at a driving school.
At the latest I would have liked to throw the envelope together with the card in his face. That was something else than what I had hoped for as a gift for my birthday. Didn't he know better or did this belong to his plan to keep me small? Perhaps he wanted to prevent me from moving out like my older brother early enough this way. When he disappeared again, I threw the card discontentedly in the direction of my desk, fell onto my bed and muttered, "Old stingy old man!"
Karola started to laugh and calmed me down, "He means well."
"I know that. But I still feel like a little child. I'm constantly running from one shooting to the next, only get the worst assignments and am fed with alms. He certainly won't pay for the driver's license himself either!" I grumbled.
Karola said, "You're old enough now to choose your own assignments. Don't you think there's enough money coming in?"
I shook my head disapprovingly. "All the clients offer me only the last bit of nonsense anyway. They know exactly what my age allows and what not. With his constant nagging he already ruined my career as much as possible. But he never had to listen to me. Probably I'll have to do without photos again so that money gets into the cash register."
"Are you really going to take off in front of the camera?" Karola asked shocked. "Don't you think there are other possibilities?"
"Yes, sure there are. I continue taking pictures of socks and don't even earn enough to finance my studies."
Karola laughed, "Then the guys at university will certainly get hard-ons if they just see my brown legs. But maybe it's better that way. You don't want to hang in every locker and then have them spray you."
"Let them. I won't fall for any of them, so they'll have to be satisfied with my pictures. They probably have fun with it anyway."
It was actually relatively indifferent to me whether they took a dump on my photos. If it helped me move forward and enabled me to finance my studies, it would suit me. So far no one had seen my love apples. At least these photos brought in a bit more money and the clients would certainly offer me some other pictures. Then I could take proper fashion photos again and maybe even leave Cologne for a photo shoot once. I still dreamed of photos on a beautiful sandy beach in the Caribbean. Even a beach in Holland would have pleased me. Then my job would finally go upwards.
At least that was my short-term plan to save my career. My father was still working on ruining it for me. But that would end definitively the next day. There was a small shooting for coats coming up. Naturally, for some winter coats, so that you wouldn't see too much of my body. There I would have to talk to the client. I wanted to take over better-paid assignments without being hindered by my father. After our little private party, Karola left and once again warned me against my plan with the topless photos. She wasn't really enthusiastic about it.
Chapter 2
The next morning, the day began normally with a breakfast alone and visiting school. Karola once again talked to me, then asked my advice on how she could get closer to her crush without being intrusive. As if I could help her greatly. My contact with the other sex wasn't even in the slightest present. Before anyone could take me to a party, my father would search through the entire police database and investigate his family until the Neanderthal era. If there was even the smallest suspicion, he would rather lock me up in an inaccessible tower than let me go to the party with them.
Until the afternoon, we sat in our classroom and told each other things that interested no one. My thoughts revolved around the photo shoot in the late afternoon. I mentally prepared myself for kicking my father in the shins and making my own decisions. No matter what he said. I was old enough and he couldn't tell me anything anymore. Karola wished me luck for the photo shoot and tried once again to convince me not to take off my clothes in front of the camera. However, I couldn't promise her that. If money finally came in, I wouldn't be against advancing my career this way.
There were already enough other models who had started their career ladder with their naked tits in the camera. Most ended up working for respectable designers and could keep themselves afloat well. Supermodels, of course. However, I was pretty sure I would never climb into that rank. I wasn't Klum, who spent her young years far away and now appeared on TV as she ruined other young models in a TV show. They were once seen on the screen and then disappeared into obscurity. I had already been interested in this show once.
But a small glimpse into this show from another model who participated in it cured me of that. She left late and told me in a confidential conversation what went on behind the scenes. What you saw on TV was only a high-gloss image. Nothing of that was real. Klum herself was there the whole time, but having a conversation with her was simply impossible. Instead, the incoming models received some tasks and were pitted against each other by the producers to show drama on TV. That was all that happened there. You didn't get a real job.
In the late afternoon, I sat at home at my mother's kitchen table waiting for my father, who was supposed to take me to the photo shoot. He came and came simply not and I had already turned the channel completely off. Just before it was time, the phone rang. Allegedly he was stuck in traffic and wouldn't make it on time. I should take the tram and he would follow immediately. On my way out the door, I called to my mother, who was still talking to him, that he didn't need to come at all. Just before I closed the door behind me, I shouted inside, "He's fired!"
Angrily, I set off for the next stop. Exactly what I needed to make the bucket overflow. From now on, I would handle my tasks myself. His job could be taken over by a completely crazy chimpanzee. Still in the tram, my phone rang and the display lit up with my father's number. I took the call, yelled into the microphone, "You're fired!" and cut off the connection. Seconds later it rang again. Either I wasn't clear enough or he wanted to complain. I simply rejected the call and then turned off my phone.
Arriving at the studio, the photographer was still occupied with another model and sitting a bit apart was an older woman in a chair with her face buried in her mobile phone. She didn't even notice me. The visagist took care of me. In a few minutes I should take my first pictures. No one scolded me for being quite late. At least the climate control was set a little cooler. Positing in a thick coat in summer temperatures wasn't exactly a sweet treat. This also noticed the other model, whom I could observe as they took care of my hair.
She seemed relatively inexperienced and the photographer was anything but satisfied with her. He constantly had to correct and every few minutes sweat droplets ran down her forehead. The older woman looked up briefly from her phone, shook her head in confusion and then returned to her screen. The next time she reacted differently. She called the photographer over and asked, "Can we skip her? It's terrible! She acts as if she was on camera for the first time. I'll call an agent who will bring us another one and send her home."
"In order, Mrs. Schlüter," said the photographer and put down the camera. Seconds later he complimented the young model out the door, took care of the laptop and deleted all the pictures of her. But a whole chandelier went off in my mind when I heard the name Schlüter. That was the client who had obviously been watching the shoot. Before she could call, I sensed my chance and asked, "Can't I take over her pictures?"
"No, sorry. I can't have one model for five pages. Besides, it somewhat looks awkward with your skin tone," she apologized and dialed a phone number.
What else did I expect? Naturally, behind the catalogs was also a plan and it would be very noticeable if on a few pages the same model always appeared. With my slightly unusual skin tone, I was quite recognizable. While she was talking on the phone, I started my work with the photographer. He took some photos in different poses which I had already learned, and then I dressed again. It almost happened automatically and I didn't need to think about it at all. After wearing several coats, the door opened and a model stumbled into the studio.
Behind her followed an actual woman in a red suit and a laptop under her arm. The model herself looked somehow undernourished. Maybe it just appeared that way because she was as tall as a giraffe and her clothes weren't tailored to fit her figure. However, the woman behind her looked extremely good and alone her appearance made me doubt my own for a moment. The red suit hugged her flawless figure and matched quite well with her reddish-brown hair. It fell flat to her shoulders and was slightly curled outward. Her greeting with the client was an unusual experience.
It seemed to me as if Mrs. Schlüter had a little fear of her. Both sat down and whispered, while her accompanying model was made up. What they were negotiating I couldn't hear. I had to focus on my work. But after my photos, I planned to talk to her as well. The more contacts I had in this scene, the more and better jobs I could get. But before I could think further about who this woman might be, the studio door opened again and my father stuck his head through the door. At exactly this moment, the photographer gave me a signal. I should flirt with the camera and not roll my eyes.
However, everything was the opposite of easy in this situation for me. But I didn't get much further either. He immediately started shouting like a rooster, even though he knew perfectly well that I couldn't defend myself in front of the camera. I had to look nice and not shout. However, the photographer shot him a deadly look, put his camera aside, and stormed toward him. But he wasn't the only one who attacked my father. Unexpectedly, I received help from the client and the woman in the red suit. I also used the opportunity to throw at him once again that I had fired him and wanted to negotiate my contracts myself.
Of course, this didn't fit his concept at all. He was still of the opinion that he could tell me which assignments I could accept and which not. According to his statement, he was still my manager and would also not give up this job. He was still my father. But now that I was 18 years old interested him not at all. To pressure me, he came up with a statement that almost took the ground from under my feet. If I waived his services as a manager, I would also have to waive my accommodation. In short, he blackmailed me with the apartment.
Then something happened that I completely did not expect. The woman in the red suit stepped directly in front of my father, gave him a slap and said, "If the girl is 18 and doesn't want to be represented by her father anymore, then it's just to be taken. Now forcing her to have to move out says quite a lot about such an ass. But we are doing the following: If Haley wants, I will take over her management immediately and bring her under my roof."
I had to accept this offer. Who knew what else he would pull out of his hat? So I nodded to the woman modestly and confirmed my agreement. My father's face fell at first. He hadn't expected this headwind and the offer from the woman. Only after he calmed down a bit, did his mask finally fall completely. He insisted on the payment for this order, which he had anyway arranged as my manager. Naturally, the money should go into his pocket. Thereupon the client spoke up, turned to me and shouted, "Take off your coat! I'm waiving your pictures and paying an expense reimbursement."
She pulled out a hundred-euro bill from her handbag, threw it in front of my father's feet and barked, "That should be enough for the train ticket and a bit of gasoline. Leave now!"
He picked up the bill from the floor, gave me a very angry look, and disappeared again. The door closed behind him and Mrs. Schlüter then asked in my direction, "Do you need a break or can you also take the last pictures like this?"
I was emotionally somewhat overwhelmed and needed a break first. I couldn't flirt with the camera like that. There was simply too much going on in my head, which I had to process first. The other model took over for me and I could sit down for a while. My father showed his real face. He had been after money all along and only ensured that I didn't show too much of my body. For years he had used me. It became even clearer when Mrs. Schlüter, the client who sat next to me, told me what I actually received for the photos. She paid not particularly little, but my father kept me in the illusion all this time that I would get almost nothing.
If I had only received the money for the pictures from Mrs. Schlüter over the years, my birthday gift would have been a new car, complete with driver's license. Instead, I got only an enrollment which I eventually also had to pay myself. Not even dreaming of a private car. This money my father had nicely put into his own pocket and fed me with a small allowance. That made me extremely angry. Only when I thought about it did a whole chandelier go off in my mind. If I had shown more of my body, I would have realized much earlier how much money I actually received for the pictures. He only concealed this because of that.
Through Mrs. Schlüter's action I lost only 100 euros from this assignment. That was still bearable, because after all I got another four hundred for myself. At first glance it didn't sound like real money, but about five hundred euros a week makes approximately 2000 euros a month. I had to pay taxes on that, but almost half of it would remain. From that I couldn't afford everything, but an apartment for my studies was simply possible. I just had to set aside my tuition fees. That would still be a big mountain, but it was manageable. Only I lacked the savings from the last few years.
Then I also got to know the woman in the red suit. She introduced herself to me as Erika Palmérie. The name gave me chills. Palmérie had become somewhat known in the modeling world. Many of her discoveries played in the circle of desirable models. She worked as an agent and was extremely selective. But who found themselves in her file, reached very high after some effort. Through this meeting I at least had a foot in the door. The offer to stay with her also didn't sound bad. Naturally, I had to contribute a little rent, but she offered me at least that I could stay as long as I wanted.
Of course, this did not mean that I was under contract with her and she would not become my agent either. That became clear to me right away. But at least I had a good accommodation, could steal some tricks from Palmérie, and maybe even get some contacts in the industry. However, I couldn't hope for her as my agent if I developed well. That was already worth quite a lot. What I noticed, even though she was talking to me, were her eyes fixed on her own model. One could read from her expression that she wasn't particularly satisfied with the giraffe performing right now.
When she finished her pictures, I had to go again. There I could clearly see that her model received a clear rejection from Palmérie. She had to take some poses away from the camera, which Palmérie corrected with hard grip. The giraffe didn't like this at all. I could see small tears in her eyes even from the big distance. However, she didn't pay any attention to me. I finished my remaining recordings, clarified with the client where she should send my payment. Since my parents still had access to my account, she should send the payment as a check to Palmérie.
I first had to do an appointment at the bank and block every access of my parents on it. A refund of my previous earnings I could forget from the beginning. I had worked for years in vain and my father simply spent the money. He would have had great luck if I never stood before him again. That he definitely wouldn't survive. I wrote this to my brother in a message, before I left the photo studio with Palmérie and my colleague. Our first way led us into the outskirts of Cologne. My colleague introduced herself to me as Elvira Granowski. She and her family came from Poland, where Elvira was also living with Palmérie by now.