Kajira of Gor

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"Do you not see it?" asked the man.

"Yes," said the fellow with him.

"It is incredible," said another.

"The resemblance is truly striking," said the second man.

"Please turn your profile towards us, and lift your chin, Miss Collins," said the first man.

I complied.

I was in a photographer's studio.

"A little higher, Miss Collins," said the first man.

I lifted my chin higher.

"You may change in here," had said the man earlier, indicating a small dressing room off the studio. I had been handed a pair of clogs, a white silk blouse and a pair of black shorts.

"No brassiere or panties," he had said.

I had looked at him.

"We want no lines from them," he said.

"Of course," I had said.

The shorts were quite short, and, even without the panties, at least a size too small. The blouse, too, even without the brassiere, was tight.

"Please tie up the blouse, in front," he said. "We want some midriff." I had complied.

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