You try to resist

“Oh my god -- n-no. This is as far as this goes,” you say.

They share a look and then both stare at you with clearly disappointed faces. You feel like a kid about to be scolded, and the mood is tense.

“Alright, come with me and we’ll talk,” Cecilia says, leading you toward an adjoining walk-in closet.

Once you’re both in the closet with the door shut, she immediately grabs your chin, moving so fast that you’re stilled in her grasp before you even understand what’s happening. Her fingers are cold, and hold you with a deliberate pressure. You let out a gasp.

“You will do what we say, do you understand me? It’s this or we tie you up and get the pictures we want anyway, probably after reddening your ass.”

You nod slowly. She lets go of your chin and you shrink back, scared for real. Would she actually spank you? It's been forever since you've been spanked -- so infantilizing and humiliating. You don't even want to think about it.

“Now, we aren't leaving this closet until those titties are free. So do it.”

Your fear curdles to dejection and you feel tears rise, but you press them back before you release a sob. You fidget and stall, but you know you’re beaten.

Hands on autopilot, you slowly reach behind you and undo the clasp of your bra. The cups lose tension on your breasts and you instinctively pull your shoulders in as partial cover, before righting yourself and pulling it completely off. Your skin heats up where you feel the garment trace off your body.

She’s hovering over you, close in the tightness of the closet, but not so close that it compromises her view. She only has to gesture to get you to hand over your bra.

“That’s a good girl. Such a shame that you have to feel so bad about parts of you that are so pretty,” she says, not even trying to hide her leer at your breasts. At least the light in the closet is low. “But then again, bad feelings are usually the most fun to play with.”

“This is your fault, not mine,” you struggle to say.

“Oh come now, we’re just taking pictures. And speaking of, we shouldn’t be in here much longer or Cassius will get suspicious. Here, put this back on,” she says, handing you back your bra.

You're confused.
“What? Why?”

She looks back at you like it’s obvious.
“So you can take it off again for the camera. And for Cassius. The stripping is half the fun.”

God, you’re already so sick of these two. Furiously sliding your bra back on, you walk back into the room, more broken down than before. “Have we had a change of heart?” the male devil asks.

“Hmm?” Ceclia demands of you.

“I don’t have a choice, right?”

They just stare back at you, which you take as a sign that it’s time to start. You sigh, but once again you reach for your bra clasp.

“Oop, slow down. Make sure the bra falls off on its own. The camera loves a tease.”

He leads you through a few poses, clicking the damned camera the whole time. And he scolds you when you try to pull up your now-precarious bra -- your last effort to deny him and the camera an intimate view. Naturally, it does then fall, and you flinch as you're left topless in front of the pair and their camera. Embarrassment and irritation steeps through you. You shouldn't have to do this! And, too late to do anything about it, you realize that red faces show up on cameras, making you feel even worse.

The amateur cameraman has you take a demure pose, looking down. Your eye easily catches on the swell of your own breasts, and in this moment you decide that if you can't have any other victories, at least you’re proud of your boobs. Perhaps on the small side and a little outward-facing, but soft and full in the way that breasts are supposed to be.

The devils, apparently, agree.

“Gorgeous. Hunch over a bit more for me.”

You don’t hate modeling. In fact, over time you manage to push the camera to the back of your mind -- knowing you’ll never truly forget about it -- and try to feel your body in the moment. You imagine the camera's view of your proud shoulders, regal neck, shapely legs. Anything but it's actual focus. Maybe if you do a good job for them they’ll let you go sooner. Or at least, that’s what you try to convince yourself to keep your growing humiliation at bay.