Innocent Ilsa: Portfolio Ch. 02

"Sorry I took such a long time," Ilsa heard Chris' voice behind her. "It was an overseas call and..." Her voice trailed off as she came into the room behind Ilsa.

Ilsa turned to smile at Chris. She was a car, a part of the machine that Chris wanted to photograph. She leant forward, feeling her bare nipples brush against the handlebars while the lower part of her, the metallic part, pressed comfortingly up against something inside her. Ilsa, the beautiful car.

"Ah, I see you have gotten started," smiled Chris, and Ilsa was happy. She was happy that Chris was pleased, because Chris was important. Somehow. Ilsa couldn't remember why it was important that Chris was pleased, she only knew that she was a car and Chris must be pleased.

"OK, let's get going," Chris said. She moved towards a camera at the side and lights began flashing around Ilsa. She smiled, she beamed for the cameras as Chris took picture upon picture of Ilsa the car. Chris took pictures of the Ilsa car from the front, the side and the rear. She took shots from afar and close-up shots, and seemed especially interested in the part of the Ilsa car that was filled with something hard. She held her camera close to Ilsa's rear end and took multiple shots and Ilsa smiled for her just the same.

She even managed a smile when Chris made her push at the pedals beneath her feet, and she felt the part inside her piston in and out, the stretching and closing sensations deep within making her shudder with the electricity running across her body.

"That's good, keep going, keep going," encouraged Chris, and Ilsa responded by pedaling faster. She was a car, a good race car, and she was going to show Chris just what a good race car she was. Ilsa began to pant as the pumping deep in her core increased in rhythm and intensity. She could hear and feel the liquids sloshing inside her body as the electricity built up within. Her nipples were hard knots thumping against the bars in front of her, her breasts heaving.

"Very good, keep going Ilsa," urged Chris, and Ilsa heard an exclamation behind her. It sounded like a man remarking about something that she couldn't hear clearly. Ilsa was not about to let herself get distracted from her goal by the idea that some man was in the same room, looking at her sweaty body. She pushed even harder, moaning and gasping as the sparks and the squishing from between her legs built into a crescendo, a wailing that seemed to come from her mouth but originated from the moving part of her. The Ilsa car was reaching her final destination, and she wasn't going to stop. Not now, not...

The sudden burst of electricity dazed her. Ilsa screamed as her insides spasmed, clutching painfully at the unyielding metal part inside her.

"Good girl Ilsa! That's it!" yelled Chris, who had appeared at her side. Ilsa wondered if she had imagined Chris being clothed when she first stepped into the studio. She couldn't have been, because she was naked now. She looked excited, and as Ilsa dropped her eyes from her flushed face to her small breasts and naked groin, she saw that fluid was leaking from her puffy vulva.

"Oh, she has sprung a leak," thought Ilsa, then strong, calloused hands grasped her hips and limbs, and the hard, unyielding part of her was removed. She shuddered as the thick implement slipped out, her soft lower parts closing with a loud squelching sound.

"What are they doing to me?" she thought as she was set on the ground. There were sounds all around her, booming, clanging sounds as the other part of her, the part that had been connected to her and had been inside her, was taken away. Then the men came back, and Ilsa reasoned that they must be the mechanics who were going to fix the Ilsa car.

She smiled at them as they placed her on her hands and knees on the ground, waiting for them to begin working on her. She was a little cold, and she could feel the liquid pouring from her lower parts, dripping down her thighs. She was leaking badly, and in need of repairing.

She felt hands spreading her flesh behind her, and something warm and blunt pressing at the back of her. It seemed to be pressing at a point above where she was leaking. "Oh, they are going to put some petrol into me," she thought to herself, and turned to smile at the attendant. Like Chris, he was also naked. She couldn't see the hose he was holding since he was directly behind her, but she could feel it pressing at where her rear orifice was.

"I must relax and let him put it in so he can refuel me," she thought, and relaxed her muscles back there. The thick nozzle pressed inwards and she gasped. It was big, but Ilsa was a car, and she was being refueled, so she could not complain. Instead, she arched her back and raised her hips so that the nozzle could press further into her hole.

"Christ, she's got a tight ass," panted the man behind as the cameras flashed. "I don't think... I can hold it for too long." Ilsa grinned at the cameras as she felt her insides give way to the warm and slippery probe. It was sliding in deep, to a place where she couldn't remember letting anything in before. She squirmed with the initial discomfort, suddenly unsure about what she was doing. Was that... in her... ass?

But Ilsa was a car, and cars don't have asses. Her mind wandered again, wondering how long it would take before she would feel the fuel pumping into her. She flinched slightly as the nozzle slipped completely inside, something tickly suddenly bumping against her... vulva? No, it couldn't be.

Again, there was movement, more flashing lights, and someone giving instructions. Who was that woman? "Get her into position. Yeah, like that," someone was saying, and she felt the nozzle slide out a little as she was rearranged. Then she felt another object pressing at her down there, this time at the part that had been connected to the machine.

She sighed as she felt her lower lips slide apart and swallow a warm, large object. Ilsa realized that there was another man in the studio. This one was in front of her... no, under her. He was similarly naked, and appeared to be a mechanic, because he seemed to be trying to plug up the leak inside her. She looked at the woman, trying to tell them that the other woman needed fixing too, but she was busy with her cameras, taking pictures of the Ilsa car getting refueled and fixed at the same time.

The two men then began to work on her together. Ilsa felt their hands on her waist, lifting her up and slamming her down, pumping her up and own on the thick poles deep inside her. She wondered what it was they were doing. Then again, what would she know? She was only a car, and they were just doing their jobs, trying to fix her.

The tempo of the pumping increased, and two men began grunting and gasping as Ilsa felt her insides being pummeled again and again. The electricity began to build again, and Ilsa began moaning and gasping too as her body responded to the treatment it was receiving. Suddenly, the electricity washed all over her and she screamed. She felt her insides clenching, milking at the two prongs inside and the two men roared in unison.

Hot fluid began splashing deep inside her, in front and at the back, as Ilsa groaned with the last remnants of the electrical overload. The men were done. She knew it because she felt their nozzles soften inside her.

"That's fucking fantastic," panted the mechanic. "I'm wasted!" Ilsa wondered what he was saying and who he was saying it to. "Yeah, me too," came the voice of the attendant behind her.

"You guys haven't seen anything yet," came the girl's voice to her side. What was the name of the girl? She couldn't remember. "You should've seen the way she fucked herself on the bike and shoved the clip into her asshole! This is a money-spinner for sure!" Whoever it was, she sounded really enthusiastic.

As the soft nozzles slipped out of her tired orifices, Ilsa heard more noises coming from the back. She was too tired to turn around and see what was going on... she just lay down on her front, panting, as the two men got up and moved away.

But Ilsa's repair was not yet complete. More men appeared, with different sized and shaped equipment, to try to fix her and refuel her. Some of them even put their nozzles in her mouth and let her suck on them, which she did, marveling at how spongy yet hard their equipment was. At one point, Ilsa was being serviced by five men, two down below, one at her mouth, and two whose tools were put into her grateful hands. All the while, the cameras flashed, taking pictures of Ilsa, the beautiful car.

Ilsa lost count of the number of times she was attended to, but she was glad that there were so many mechanics and pump attendants who wanted to help her, the beautiful car that needed fixing... As the last ones removed their softened nozzles from her grateful lower orifices, Ilsa's last fleeting thought was that they had put too much fuel into her, but failed to fix the leak down below. As exhaustion claimed her consciousness, she felt cool liquid sliding out of her rear hole, and clots of fluid sliding out of her front. She must... ask... somebody... to... look... at... that...

Epilogue

Confusion was Ilsa's first response as she opened her eyes. Where was she? Did her lecherous boss have his way with her? She could still feel her lower parts tingling. It felt like something had been pushed into her vagina and anus, she felt a little sore down between her legs.

"Are you alright?" came a familiar voice and Ilsa suddenly remembered. She had quit her job in Russia and was now in London for her first photo shoot. She was going to be a model. Then what was she doing lying on the floor? She shook her head, trying to focus on what had happened before she blacked out. She looked at Chris, panic in her eyes as she realized she could not remember.

"You came out of the changing room, remember?" Chris said. Ilsa was no less confused. Chris sighed and walked over to the changing room where she had left her clothes, then strode over to Ilsa, mimicking her movements. Ilsa frowned, trying hard to remember.

"You posed over here and we took some pictures, then you fainted," explained Chris, demonstrating her faint by slumping on the ground. Ilsa still looked confused and uncertain. It seemed like a long time had passed since she first stepped into the studio, much longer than Chris' explanation would account for.

She stared at Chris as the girl helped her back onto her feet. She was clad in the same black outfit as when she had first opened the door. The only difference in her appearance was the slight flush on her face, which Ilsa attributed to the warmth in the studio.

Yes, it was a little warm in there. Ilsa was puzzled. There were... flashes, almost like photographs, in her head. In one of them, Chris was naked, her brown nipples, flat belly and hairless pubis exposed. She remembered... flashes, liquid... something about leaking.

Ilsa turned to the background mounted against the wall of the studio. It was a beautiful picture of a meadow, with flowers and tall grass, and a tree-lined horizon. Why couldn't she remember this? She remembered... something. Something big. A machine. Or did she? Was it just her imagination?

"Hey, let's take a break, ok?" said Chris. She put her hands up and formed a capital T, and Ilsa understood the sign. She was a little upset. Oh no. Chris was unhappy with her. Ilsa's face crumpled and she began to cry.

"Hey, hey, hey, it's ok, Ilsa," assured Chris, who reached forward to hug her. Ilsa continued sobbing even though she was grateful to the girl for showing her such concern. "It's alright. We can do this again tomorrow, ok?" continued Chris, pulling out a calendar and pointing to the date of the following day.

Ilsa nodded, a little more assured that she had not blown her chance to become a model. She was still sobbing when she looked down and noticed that the deep V top of her suit had slipped down and exposed the top half of her nipples. But that was ok. There was no one else in the studio but Chris and her.

"Here, you go and change," said Chris, pointing her to the changing room. Ilsa obliged, wincing as she walked. She must have hurt her pelvis when she fainted, she reasoned to herself. She was really quite sore down there.

After she had changed into her own attire, Ilsa stepped out just in time to see Chris mopping the floor. She felt bad for the photographer. She had to do everything herself. Ilsa walked up quickly to the girl and tried to grab the mop, but Chris was having none of it.

"No, Ilsa, no," she said, waving away Ilsa's attempts to help her clean up. "I'll do that." She stopped for a moment to reach down to the table where her equipment was, and fished out an envelope. "Here, this is for you."

Ilsa opened it and her heart leapt. There was a wad of money in it! She squealed, then turned around to hug Chris, ignoring the aching in her groin. "Thank you," she said in heavily-accented English. "Thank you, Chris." 'Thank you' was another phrase she had insisted on learning from Nataly.

"You're welcome. You're a good girl, Ilsa," replied Chris as she picked up the mop again. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Tomorrow," said Ilsa, turning to walk to the door. As she did so, she noticed a vacuum cleaner lying on the floor. Its nozzle gleamed, as if it was coated with some sort of liquid. Leaning on its side was a used bag, clearly filled with some sort of yellowish-white liquid. Ilsa crinkled her nose as she noticed the smell. It smelt... funny, yet familiar. Where and when had she smelt that before?

Her stomach rumbled. There was an unfamiliar taste in her mouth. Oh well. She would try to figure it out later, after she bought herself a good meal. She quickened her stride as she felt a small mass sliding down her vagina, suddenly wetting the gusset of her panties. "Oh God," she thought to herself. "I hope it's not my period."