This is from the second article I posted in the OP.
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It was then when I was made aware that the photo shoot wasn’t at all on anyone’s agenda but my own. My recruiter half smiled and pulled a manila envelope from the folder he was carrying. He opened the envelope and flashed a thick stack of all $100 bills. My confusion immediately turned to terror the second the words, “adult film” were mouthed by the muscular youngest man in the group. He laughed and started moving towards me. Right away, I began hysterically crying and saying “no” over and over. It was the only word I seemed to remember how to say. My mind was in total –panic but my body was like a deer in headlights. I couldn’t move my legs to run, causing my sobbing to intensify. The men were furious with my hysterical response and immediately began screaming at me. Each man verbally attacked me differently, breaking me from all angles. I was told how incredibly ugly I was and that I was the farthest thing from what a modeling agency wants, that I was just another easily forgotten slut, and was called every disgusting/degrading name out there. I was told how insignificant my existence was and that no one wanted to come with me for a reason. My “recruiter” began screaming just inches from my face, demanding I pay back every dollar he wasted on me for my plane ticket and hotel room. I was told I could not leave until all of my expenses were paid back. He stood in between me and the door and repetitively shouted over and over, “where is my money!” Having literally only $0.30 to my name and borrowing money just for gas to drive to the airport, I felt as if there was no way out. Honestly, I do not know why I didn’t think to call 911 on my cell or scream for help. I was way past terrified and had no idea if these men were going to beat me or even kill me. They had broken me.
I was handed a pile of poorly stapled papers and was told to fill every blank. It was a contract that required my initials and/or signature every 10 words or so. Everything these people advertised on ModelMayhem was a lie. I had no idea what the men’s’ names were in the room, what the company’s was actually called, what country these people even came from, let alone what the hell I was signing my name on. I attempted reading through the documents, but was yelled at and told to “shut up” because “the recordings will never even be distributed in America” if I lingered too long on a page. I was given bullshit lines to say to the camera and had to appear genuinely excited for porn and realistically turned on by the terrifying naked stranger in front of me. Every time that I either started crying, winced, or moved away in pain, I was belittled like a dog that just peed on the floor and forced to start the take again from the top. The entire process, I was screamed at for not being hot enough, not taking it like I should, and for being “a dumb bitch”. I wasn’t even a human being anymore; I was an item. My body gave up. I had never felt so much physical/emotional pain in my entire life, yet was forced to pretend that I loved every second of it.
