To say he was excited would have been an understatement. He had been waiting years for this very moment. Mistress Millie, his favourite adult model, was finally coming to his studio to shoot with him.
When her agent made the booking, he tried to play it cool, to act like the professional he is and not the horny adolescent he had once been. Talking to a middle manager with all the charm of a syphilitic ant, is one thing. Interacting with Millie was going to be an entirely different story.
He had a mental checklist of things to do; make sure the place was spotless, give Mandy, his receptionist, the day off, arrange for fresh flowers and champagne, and finally get a haircut. The list ran to two sides of A4 paper, and he had likely missed one or two things but whatever he had forgotten couldn't have been all that important.
For the tenth time that day, he moved around the lights and the backdrop. There were only so many positions he could place them in but none seemed right. What are you doing? The professional part of his brain asked.
You have no idea what is going to come through that door. You have never seen her outside of photographs. Millie's colouring, bearing and stature are all variables he simply couldn't account for, let alone make practical decisions about.
He needed to calm down quickly or Millie was going to walk out. Twenty minutes of dealing with a gibbering mess, acting like a sex pest with a camera phone, would do it. Although he was not normally one for alcohol, he always kept a bottle of whiskey on hand just in case a client requested it.
He fished it out of the cupboard. Unscrewed the lid and briefly considered pouring some into a mug. Discarding the idea he took several large gulps straight out of the bottle instead. The liquid warmed his throat and stomach before spreading through the rest of his body. The alcohol washed away his nerves. His brain fogged a little, not enough to dull his faculties, just enough to relax him.
The door buzzer sounded. He checked his watch and worried Millie was early. Or worse it was an unexpected visitor. One he would have five minutes, at the most, to get rid of.
"Shit" he swore as he jogged towards the door.
Millie was waiting on the other side, wearing a fake fur coat and black boots. The smile on her crimson lips, offset against her porcelain skin and thick dark hair, almost knocked him to the floor. The countless images he had seen all failed to capture something of her natural beauty. He stood holding the door open, his professional eye taking in every detail of her exquisite face, her pale blue eyes watching him.
She's probably wondering if you are going to let her in. The rational part of his brain prompted.
"Oh sorry, you must be Millie, please come in," he said.
"Thanks," she said, her perfume teasing him as she walked past.
As inviting as the fragrance was, he caught just a hint of something much deeper and more natural coming from her skin. It was intoxicating. He wanted to walk up behind Millie, press his face against her neck and breathe her in.
"So..." Millie said, looking around the room before finally settling her gaze upon him.
"So...yeah..." He said, thankfully his professionalism kicked in.
He and Millie acted out the same routine they had each done a million times before. The minutiae of a shoot, details most wouldn't think about, were dealt with. A tour of the facilities was given. Before flirtations and small talk were made over a glass of champagne.
Millie went off to change for the first set of images, a softcore adult shoot. No penetration, just her stripping out of an outfit and posing provocatively for the camera. When he thought about it like that, he almost made it sound disappointing.
If he had thought about it, he would have snuck off to the bathroom to relieve some of the pressure that was swelling within his balls. The very thought of what that day held was driving him wild. But he was too late now. He had no choice but to conceal his excitement. Wearing loose-fitting combat shorts instead of tight jeans turned out to be nothing short of a godsend.
"I'm ready, how do I look?" Millie asked, emerging from the changing room.
She was wearing a white suit jacket that was a little too big for her, black panties and black patent leather heels. Her hair was tied back in a ponytail, and she had either removed her glasses or put in contact lenses. The buttons on the jacket strained to keep Millie's swollen breasts restrained. It would not take much for at least one, if not both, to spill out and into the air.
