The door bell rang. It was Sarah coming round to pick up the disk with her photos from the shoot we did a week ago. I was slightly apprehensive about meeting her again after what had happened at end of the photoshoot session, although I certainly wasn't expecting any dramas. I opened the door.
"Hello David," she said, giving me a peck on the cheek as she let herself into the flat. "How's it been going? Taken any nice pictures lately?" she added with a sly little grin.
"Ahem," I said. "The odd one, not as nice as yours. Here, take a look at yourself."
I couldn't help but admire her appearance as she scanned over some of the prints of the shots I had taken of her. She was wearing a light material green knee-length dress, buttoned at the front. The design was of a utilitarian style, sort of like a mock factory uniform. On her feet were a pair of knee-length shiny black boots, with big heels. Definitely not your average factory worker attire.
"These look hot," she said. "I love it how you've done this one in black and white, it's kind of oldy worldy. Wow! I can't believe that's me!"
"It is, and I can't believe how good you look in those boots you're wearing. Been shopping again?"
"Yeah. I guess maybe a have a thing for heels now!"
Then she paused, though continuing to flip through the pictures.
"David?"
"Yes?"
"Would you like to take some more pictures? Of me, I mean."
"Well, er, I suppose so; why not?"
"It just that I've been thinking about it all week, how much I enjoyed it, because I did, even though I didn't expect that. You're really good at what you do, your photographs are really good, and you have a way of making a person feel comfortable. I don't know, it's like you care about what you do, and that made me feel special. I would really like to do some more – you don't have to pay me even. Will you?"
This I hadn't expected. Sure, she had placed my hand on her breast and wet pussy as she was leaving here a week ago and, lovely though it was, I put it down to simply a confused set of emotions – she had been partly turned on by the shoot, but she was both excited and horrified by how far she had exposed herself, partly embarrassed also and perhaps even feeling a bit guilty that she had ended it so abruptly.
"Sarah, I'm happy to photograph you any time, but are you sure you're not acting out of pity or even guilt? Because I don't want to photograph you as a charity exercise, especially if I'm not paying you. I said before it was up to you to end the session at your choosing."
"No, no, not at all. Maybe I did feel a bit bad, but it's not that. I didn't think I would enjoy it at all, but it did enjoy it very much, that surprised me, and I want to do it again. I really want to."
"OK, when?"
"What about right now? Are you free this evening?"
"Not much happening here, and taking pictures of you pretty much beats re -runs of Seinfeld. Let's do it. Give me a minute to set the place up."
The night had taken an unexpected turn for the better. I scurried around shifting the furniture and draping the white drop sheets across the couch. The spotlights were still in the living room – too large really to cart around. A few minutes and we were ready to go.
"OK, same ground rules as before?" I asked.
"Yeah, but let me throw in some pose ideas if I get any," she replied. No problem there, I thought to myself.
Actually, I felt quite relaxed about the chance to shoot her again. The previous week's session was intense, but it had been a kind of ice breaker in a sense; I was glad there wasn't any weirdness between us, even though I still wasn't sure exactly where she was coming from. Was she feeling guilty, or was she just a terrible tease? Or had I unwittingly unleashed the exhibitionist in her? Or was it the attention, the simple fact of someone genuinely admiring her body – which she had more or less just told me. Maybe it was just the excellent quality of the images. Or maybe that was just my ego talking.
Whatever, this gorgeous young thing was here again to be photographed, and that was all that mattered.
"OK, let's get started," I said. "What will you be wearing?"
"This," she said, as she started unbuttoning the front of her dress. When she got half way down the front, she slipped it off her shoulders, gave a little wiggle and let it slide down her slender body. In a flash it was it pooled around her boots on the floor. She stepped forward, letting it slip off her boots so she could free herself from the dress.
"What do you think?" she asked, standing before me, hands on hips daintily swaying her shoulders too and fro to show off her now near-naked figure.
"Wow! You look hot. What you were hiding under that dress!"
She giggled by way of approval. And man, did she look hot. Her dress now gone, she had what looked like the same black lycra top as last time, but rather than the little red skirt, fitting snuggly around her cute little waist and arse were matching black skin-tight lycra shorts, set low around her hips, hugging every curve and leaving little to the imagination. And barely covering her arse cheeks. The black lycra shorts and bra top were either underwear or sports wear (or both), but either way, they were deliciously out of context with the black boots. The effect was stunning. Three rows of black against her flawless olive skin and perfect body, and those high heeled shining black boots – her appearance oozed sex, there was no other way of seeing it.
"I'm glad you like the way this looks," she said, eyeing herself off. "It's pretty full on, I don't know where I'd wear a combination like this, but I thought the three things would look hot together, and I think they do."
"Sarah, you are correct. Now, enough banter, let's begin. I have a different idea this time – your outfit has inspired me."
"Great, what do you want me to do?"
"The heels on those boots are pretty high. I want to emphasise the length and sexiness of your legs. So, stand up on that table there."
"OK." I held her wrist to steady her as she stepped up from a chair. There'd be no white background for this shot; though the table was white, I'd be shooting her against the backdrop of the living room furniture. Not ideal, but not bad. In any case, dressed like this she'd still look good with a slaughterhouse for a background.
"Stand there, legs apart, hands on hips. That's it."
"I like this, it's like I'm on stage or something!"
"Like a fashion model?"
"Yeah!"
She looked good, too. I was shooting her from behind, and the effect of the boots and tiny skin tight shorts against her athletic legs was breathtaking, especially shooting from what was basically below ground level. I went around to the other side and shot her from the front. Leaning across the table with the camera, I shot diagonally straight up at, basically straight up at her crotch, the distance being just far enough on the shortest lens I had to frame her whole body. Still with hands on hips, she looked down at me.
"Getting a good view there?" she said, smiling.
"Yes, ma'am."
"Do I look hot like this?"
"Totally."
"What if I do this?"
With that, she took her hands off her hips and slid them up her body until they reached her breasts. Whereas last time she cradled them almost tentatively, this time she held them firmly, deliberately, squeezing lightly, the fingers on her left hand even flicking playfully across her nipple as she looked down, admiring herself, and occasionally flashing a glance in my direction. I was surprised by her boldness; obviously she was serious when she said she enjoyed the earlier shoot. She now seemed totally into the idea of teasing me, and of me viewing her as nothing more than a sexy woman.
She continued to fondle her breasts, pausing sometimes to run her fingers gently around their underside curves, as if to highlight their roundness and firmness. Her nipples had stiffened. Me, I just kept shooting.
"David, do you like my tits?"
What a question. My cock had already been steadily responding to the show, but with that it rose to attention. Do I like her tits?
"Yes, Sarah, I love your tits."
I almost couldn't believe her boldness. She was talking about her breasts, her tits, explicitly as the objects of sexual desire that they most definitely were, but it was just hard to reconcile this kind of sexy exchange with the timid girl from a week ago. What could have happened in a week to make this change? And now she was running her fingers along the underside of the lycra top. She slipped one hand inside, so that now she was massaging one breast unencumbered, skin to skin.
"Is this good? Do you like it when I do this?"
"Oh yes, you're making me hot fondling your tits like that."
She gave a languid sigh and kept feeling herself under the lycra top. Then she stretched the material outwards and, lifting it slightly, exposed the underside of her right breast. She turned her head towards me.
"Shall I?" she said, grinning madly.
"Yes please," I said. "Take it off. Let me see them."
