Amateur Photographer

Sarah returned to the living room wearing her new 'outfit'. What a sight. The skirt was like one of those semi-tartan numbers, only it was plain dark red, with thin pleats. And she wasn't kidding – it was short. The top she was now wearing was a kind of lycra singlet sports top which finished a few inches below her breasts, leaving her mid riff bare. She had obviously removed her bra. The only other thing she had on was a pair of black heels. They weren't outrageously high, but well out of the realm of 'sensible' shoes nonetheless. They showed off the outfit and her long, luxurious legs to superb effect. A pair of white runners (such as she had arrived in) would have done the job, but the heels added a deliciously sexy even slutty air to her appearance.

"What do you think?" she asked, performing a little twirl to demonstrate her new attire, the skirt flaring provocatively, revealingly, as she did.

"Sexy, in a word," I replied. That skirt was short. It must have hung barely an inch below her gorgeous arse. I know micro skirts are all the rage these days, but this was something else. And with its thin pleated material, it didn't have the firmness of the denim ones you see so many girls wearing. The slightest breeze and this thing would be flying up around her hips. I couldn't help wonder what clothes designer could possibly expect the average girl to wear something like this in public? It was arguably closer to the kind of thing you'd buy in a sex shop than what you'd expect from your normal fashion retailer.

"OK," I said, "I'm ready to get started. What sort of poses did you have in mind?"

"Well, um, I don't know," she said, pausing to think. She obviously hadn't thought of anything specific in advance. "You seemed to know what to do before, so why don't you just set me up in poses sort of like before? I'll just do what you say."

What an invitation.

"Alright, let's start like we started before, sitting on the couch, legs together."

"OK," she trilled. She sat down, taking another sip of wine as she did. I took some shots from the left and the right, then from down on the carpet. The red skirt, the black shoes and black top and her deep olive skin tones were contrasting nicely against the plain white backdrop. She was wearing twice as much clothing as before, but if anything she looked twice as sexy.

I asked her to cross her legs, the shoe of her right leg dangling languidly over her the front of her left shin as she did. I took some more shots. I shot her 90 degrees from the side. God, in this position most of her arse was exposed. She literally would be unable to wear normal undies in this thing without them being on display pretty much whenever she sat down.

"Ok, that's great Sarah. Now stand up."

She pushed up off the couch, but stumbled a little as she did, lunging to grab the edge of the table to steady herself and prevent a fall. Was it the effects of the wine?

"Sorry!" she giggled. Apologising for tripping over – how cute, I thought.

"These shoes are new and I'm not used to them yet!"

"Don't worry about it. Even if they're not that comfortable on, they look great on you."

She smiled.

"Well, I'm glad you like them. It's a funny thing. I've hardly ever worn these kind of shoes before. I've never really been into heels; I always thought of them as sort like of old people's fashion, like my mum wearing them – gross!"

"So you bought them especially to go with the outfit?"

"Well, yeah... actually, it's a boring story. One of the subjects in my course has to do with feminism and fashion, and the lecturer gave a talk on the significance of high heels in western society. There's a theory about it."

"There's a theory for everything at university," I ventured.

"Well, yeah, it's like, the theory is that high heels are like a male construct, designed not only to make women look attractive in their eyes, but also to disable women. I mean, have you ever seen a woman try to run in shoes like these? I can barely walk in them!"

"Interesting theory."

"Yeah, the idea is that it objectifies women as sex objects, but at the same time imprisoning them, making it easier for them to become the sexual prey of the man, because when wearing them they cannot run away from the man. Or it just makes them physically dependent on the man."

I pondered on this, and the incongruity of having a philosophical discussion about feminist theory with a sexy young thing wearing an outfit which, if it could talk, would be screaming out: 'fuck me now!'

"I guess that sounds fair enough," I said, "although I confess I never thought of it like that."

"Well, I suppose I never really did either. When I was buying the skirt I started thinking about that stuff about high heels at Uni, and how I would feel to wear them and how I would look in this skirt if I was wearing heels.

"Do I look good?"

"Sarah, you look very good. Better than good."

"But what's so good about heels?"

I mightn't have ever given much thought to feminist theories on high heels, but I was well versed in the topic of what effect they had on the female form in the aesthetic sense.

"Well, if we're talking appearances," I began, "from the male viewer's perspective, heels do two things. One: they make the woman appear taller than she is; they give her a statuesque kind of look. Two: by raising the heel of the foot, they arch the legs, push them up at the rear, which tenses the muscles and shows off the legs very nicely. Of course, most men probably aren't consciously aware of this, but they're certainly aware of it in other ways. But best of all, wearing heels lifts your bum up and out a bit, which accentuates the shape. It works the same on most women, even those carrying a few extra pounds. But on cute, slim girls, like yourself, the effect can be stunning and very sexy."

"So, how do I look then? Do they work on me?" As she spoke, she was looking down at her legs and heel-clad feet almost as though they were laboratory specimens. I looked her up and down, the discussion on heels giving me unspoken permission to just sit there and feast my eyes on her graceful, sexy form.

"Sarah, you have a great body. You have very sexy legs and, if you really want to know, a perfectly shaped arse – remember, I know how nice your arse looks, I've just been photographing it this last hour. You look good enough without heels, but with them, you're totally hot."

She smiled radiantly. "Thank you!" she giggled. "I feel sexy in them too."

She seemed pleased, and I could not help but think how much more comfortable she now appeared to be in front of my gaze and the lens of the camera. A little over an hour ago she had come in here nervous and apprehensive, but keen to earn a few easy bucks by allowing someone photograph her in underwear. Now she was parading before me the sexiest outfit she owned, and clearly, if maybe only mildly, reveling in her exhibitionism. She was happy to let me ogle her body, and comment on it while doing so; in fact, she appeared to be enjoying displaying herself in a context now that not only had little to do with my artistic endeavours, but was more or less on her terms, and which was all about how sexy she looked.

All this talk of heels, looking at her and talking about her body, was getting to me. I wanted to get some shots.

"OK," I said, "stand up straight, just there, like that. Now, stand with your legs about a foot apart, toes pointed straight ahead. Look straight at the camera. Kind of like before. Hands on hips."

I framed her up in the viewing window. I zoomed in on her torso, shooting her from waist up. Without the bra, the shape of her breasts were now much more discernable. I hadn't failed to notice they were of a generous size, though not out of proportion for a girl of her slim build. And there was not an ounce of sag; on the contrary, they almost defied gravity, the outer extremities pointing proudly forward, her nipples angling slightly towards the ceiling as she arched her back. Under the black lycra top, I could see her nipples were hard. This I hadn't noticed before. Was it just the room temperature?

Stepping back, I took some simple head-to-toe portraits: front, side and rear. The heels really did do wonderful things for her legs. In that skirt, tops of her thighs exposed, perfect arse jutting out invitingly, and all there before me to observe and capture in image form, it was almost too much. Taking these shots was such a thrill; I was rock hard now, and even if it did bother me that she might be able to see my bulge, there wasn't a lot I could do to hide it while taking the shots. I took a short pause to shift the position of one of the spotlights.

The skirt was like a red rag to a bull. A found my gaze was drawn to it no matter what I was trying to shoot. I might have spent the last hour shooting her in nothing but a g-string and flimsy bra, but the way the hem of the skirt hung so tantalisingly high, barely covering her arse, made it near impossible to stop myself trying to get a peak underneath it.

"Sarah, I see what you mean about that skirt – it is very short."

"Yeah, you're right. It didn't look that bad in the shop, or so I thought, but when I tried it on at home, hmmm!"

"Well, wearing that thing, you'd have to be careful who was behind you whenever you went up a set of stairs!"

"Is it that bad?"

"Well, bad's not the word I'd use."

She gave a little giggle. With the lights rearranged I got back into position. This time I got down low, shooting her from the ground up. Standing there, legs slightly askew, she might as well have been standing at the top of the staircase. I could see straight up her skirt; I could see the gorgeous black g-string nestled around her waist that she had so nearly peeled off her hips for me earlier on. Staying low, I moved around her, shooting her 180 degrees from the front to the rear. She was looking down at me as I shuffled along the ground to get a shot from behind. She looked over her shoulder at me, enquiringly.

"Are you looking up my dress, David?" There was a hint of mock anger in her voice.

"As a matter of fact, I am." What else could I say? "Now don't be too prudish," I urged, "I've seen you with just your undies on before, and shooting you from this angle, you just look really very sexy."

"Well, OK," she laughed, you're the expert!"

"All right, change poses," I said. A grabbed a simple upright chair from the kitchen and had her sit on it. Emboldened by how relaxed she was, and by the willingness she'd shown to act as instructed, I decided to get more 'hands on' by adjusting her in this pose myself. With a hand on her shoulder I gently pushed her back so that she was sitting upright rather than slouching. Apart from when she brushed against me at the end of the earlier session, this was the first time I had actually touched her body. Then I placed a hand on her knee to open her legs a little. In truth, I just wanted to touch her fabulous body, and feeling her knee in my palm and fingers fired a surge of blood running though my body. Her skin was so silky smooth, velvet to touch.

I took some shots of her like that, legs slightly apart. In this position I could just make out the black g-string, the folds of her skirt across the tops of her thighs offering at least a pretence of modesty.

"Open your legs a little wider," I said. She hesitated. By the look in her eye I could tell that she was well aware of the contextual difference between sitting there legs apart in underwear and doing the same thing with a skirt on – paradoxical as it was.

Earlier I worried about offending her. Now I just badly wanted to see her on that chair with her legs spread for me. I moved across and placed both hands on her knees and spread her legs wide. She looked up at me with wide eyes as I did so, remaining passive, saying nothing but not protesting. My hands lingered on her lower thighs longer than was needed. I couldn't help it.

Back to the camera. She held the pose I had created, but through the lens I realised I hadn't been bold enough in opening her legs. I wanted more.

"Sarah, I need you to open your legs a little further."

She looked at me, smiling now, and did as requested. She arched her back and shuffled forward on the chair, and slowly but deliberately spread her legs wide apart. She looked up at me, and with a slight raised eyebrow, said: "Is this enough?" There was a devilish grin on her face now as she relaxed her hands on the seat of the chair either side of her legs, arched her back and thrust her torso forward toward the camera.

"Yep, that's great. Totally sexy."

"Is it really? Am I?"

She was, I answered back. This pose was total sex. The heels, the skirt around her waist, legs spread wide and only a thin g-string concealing her treasures, it was as much an open visual invitation to take her body as it was a photographic exercise.

She obediently held that pose while I walked around from the tripod to get some different angles. All the while she kept looking straight ahead, almost as if detached, but when I got close enough I could see her face and neck were slightly flushed. And she was breathing more rapidly. She was almost panting – though was it just through nervousness, was she feeling apprehensive, or was she just plain turned on?

As for me, I was breathing heavily now. The more we went on, the more bolder she got, the more turned on I was becoming. My cock had been hard for ages now, and I could feel the sticky wetness of the precum that was now pasted all over my upper groin and thigh. My heart was beating rapidly as the blood surged through my body, now racked by desire. My senses ached for the touch of her skin, to feel those creamy thighs, taste them. I wanted run my fingers over her gorgeous breasts.

I felt I was close to losing control. So I quickly got back to the task at hand. And suddenly an idea came to me.

"OK, I've got an idea for a special shot," I said. "It will be a bit raunchy, but I promise it won't show anything more than you've already shown. In fact, it will expose less than the last shot."

She looked at me with a puzzled, inquisitive expression. Like she was not sure what she was about to sign up to, but at the same time was dying to find out.

"I don't know what you're thinking, but if you put it like that, I suppose I can't really say no. OK, what do you want?"

"Right, now stand up. Stand up straight, reach up under your skirt and pull your panties down - but only down to your lower thighs. Now trust me on this."

She said nothing, paused briefly and then snaked her hands under her skirt, grabbing the elastic of the g-string. With a wiggle of her arse she pulled the tiny garment down, and I watched as she bent backwards slightly to help slide it down over her hips and thighs. Then she straightened up and looked me in the eye as if seeking confirmation that she had done it correctly.

"That's great. Now, leave the g-string as it is, and spread your legs until the elastic starts to stretch. Fantastic, exactly like that. Now, raise your hands to your head and run your fingers through your hair."

Oh God. I could hardly believe how sexy, how wanton, she looked. Short skirt, knickers half way down her legs, legs spread proudly, she wasn't actually showing anything but she could hardly have looked any sluttier had she been naked. I banged away on the camera, taking shot after shot, from the front, back, and from either angle at the front. I realised I was sweating profusely, I could feel my tongue was salivating; it was all I could do to stop myself from diving in and seizing her, licking her, taking her. I wanted to fuck her.

"Sarah, you look unbelievably sexy like that. Now, take your hands down. I want you to move them up and cup your breasts. Look straight at as if you were putting on a show for your boyfriend.

"Like this? she asked, almost matter of fact.

Her hands were too small to fully cover each globe. Instead, she nestled them underneath (which was exactly as I had asked), wrapping her fingers up around them at an angle. Lord, how I wished they were my hands.

The expression on her face as she looked me in the eye, seemed one of sheer confidence, total sexuality. If looks could speak, her face was inviting me to take her body for my pleasure, and yet there was something perfunctory about the pose. As if she was simply acting it out exactly as directed, and no more. Her hands were on her breasts, but they were rigid, almost detached from her own being, as if she were gently cradling a couple of small birds. I could not honestly tell whether she was really enjoying displaying herself now, or whether she was simply acting the obedient model. Yet her eyes had the appearance of being slightly glazed, and that way she was looking at me...

"This is getting uncomfortable standing like this," she suddenly said. "Do you have enough shots?"

"Yes, OK, just relax now." She slouched on one leg, let her hands down by her side. It looked as though she wanted to stop, that this last pose was her limit. And yet I noticed she made no move to pull up her panties. I felt I had to keep the momentum of the session going, lest she decide enough was enough, because I certainly wasn't finished with this yet. I quickly tried to think of something to say. Anything.

"Do you have a boyfriend, Sarah?" I asked as I fiddled with the camera. There had been no need to, I was simply using the equipment as a prop while I tried to regain composure.

"Yeah," she replied. Too bad about that, I thought. Call me old fashioned, but I wasn't about to try anything if she had a current partner. But the sexual fog that had enveloped me wasn't too overwhelmling to prevent me from thinking and scheming on the run.

"Why don't we take some extra sexy shots just for your boyfriend?" I suggested.

"Um, OK," she said. She'd hardly paused before answering.

"Alright," I said. "Let's do some more poses to show him what a sexy creature you are."

She giggled, but I could tell that some of the earlier nervousness of before had returned. Even so, her g-string was still down around her knees. Had she forgotten about it?

She went to move to grab her wine glass, but her step was hindered by the elastic around her lower thighs. She looked up at me as if to ask what to do about the situation.

"Take it off," I said.

With that she pulled one leg in straight and the garment fell to her feet. She daintily reached down and slipped it over her heels. Now wearing nothing under her tiny skirt, Sarah walked across the room to grab her wine glass. She sat down. But by the way she was sitting there and gazing distractedly at the floor, it was obvious there was something on her mind.

"David this is really much more than I had planned to do, so please do not be upset if I don't go along with all the poses you want. I wanted to get some sexy shots of this outfit, and I think we have them already, but we can do a few more sexy ones like you say. Just don't be offended if I say stop."

"Absolutely," I replied. "It's your call. If you're not comfortable I'm happy to stop anytime. We can stop right now; we have got some stunning shots and..."

"No," she interrupted, a hint of urgency in her voice. "I don't want to stop yet. I am comfortable with this and your photography is wonderful, and even though I hardly know you I feel that I can trust you."

"OK, are you sure?" She nodded. "I am happy to call it quits right now, or whenever you say. Alright, let's continue."

I knew I had to be careful. I wanted to see more, but one wrong move and it would be all over. I thought to myself, as I paused to change memory cards, how odd it was that one part of me could be so cool and calculating, while inside I was boiling with sexual overload. I felt not unlike I was courting a virgin, struggling against my own desire whilst simultaneously trying to persuade her to offer herself to me.