Real Estate

Real Estate

MY HUSBAND HAD ARRANGED for a photographer. He's a property developer, and over the years it has made us a lot of money. The method has always been the same: buy low, sell high. The first few years, it was mainly apartments and small family homes, but slowly we have moved onto more exclusive properties. It has afforded us a life-style that most of my friends envy, even if our homes have always doubled up as calling cards.

The photoshoot was for one of the biggest lifestyle magazines on the West Coast, and my husband was excited. As much exposure as we could ever want, he said. He was right about that.

Two days before the shoot, he got a call. Someone had objected to a building proposal in Vancouver, and a last-minute hearing was going ahead. Did he want to talk?

Did he want to talk? Only someone who didn't know my husband would ask a question like that. He would go there, and he would talk. He would talk until their ears bled, and then he would talk some more. Then he would fly back home, and the proposal would be approved. After 20 years of marriage, I knew my husband.

Before he left for the trip, he gave me detailed instructions. I could sense how much this meant to him. He told me what to say, what to point out, and what to gloss over. He told me so much that by Wednesday afternoon when the doorbell rang, I felt ready for everything. Still, as I opened the door, I realised there was one thing he hadn't prepared me for.

The guy standing in front of me looked like he should be in front of the camera, not behind it. I guessed he was in his mid-twenties. He had this messy chestnut coloured hair that made him look like he'd just come in from the rain despite the fact that it was blue sky with not a cloud in sight. I held the door open; no questions asked. For all I cared, he could have been a door salesman. He was coming in, even if it meant buying life insurance or an encyclopaedia of American wildlife.

I watched him step into the house carrying what looked like a heavy bag on a shoulder strap. Those are his tools I caught myself thinking. He put the bag down on the stone floor before straightening up again. His eyes darted around as he tried to get a sense of the space. While he was observing the hall, I was observing him. He was wearing dark-blue pinstripe trousers and a white t-shirt. With it, he wore yellow runners.

'You don't look like a photographer,' I said, trying to make small talk.

'No?' he said, unzipping his bag. 'What does a photographer look like?'

'I'm not sure,' I said, letting out a small laugh. 'Just different I suppose.'

'So, what do I look like,' he said smiling.

The question caught me off guard.

'I don't know. More like a model or something.' I could barely believe how lame I sounded.

'Can I get you a drink?' I said, trying to shift the conversation.

'Sure, this shouldn't take long,' he said as he unscrewed the lens on his camera.

'It's quite a place you've got here.'

'You do what you need to do,' I said, watching him pull out another lens from his bag.

I was hovering reluctant to disappear to the kitchen. It seemed like such a waste to take my eyes off him. His hands were tanned and smooth and they worked fast.

'Well, feel free to do your thing while I fix us a drink,' I said.

As I opened the fridge, I raked my brains for good questions. Pull yourself together Charlotte, you're never lost for words. I hadn't even asked him what he wanted. Beer maybe? He looked like the kind of guy who could double up as a craft-beer hipster type in his spare time. Or maybe gin and tonic? Or was that what his parents drank? Bloody Mary I thought for a second even though we hadn't had tomato juice in the house for months. You're overthinking this. In the end I opened a bottle of white wine and poured two glasses.

When I returned from the kitchen, he had moved out of the hall and into the living room. Like every visitor before him, he was drawn to the wall of glass that opened up to the outside. The deck was the perfect place for an uninterrupted view of the inlet. It was the kind of panorama that had come with a fifteen-million-dollar price tag.

'I'm here to help if you need it?' I said, suddenly remembering my husband's directions.

He looked at me nodding. Then he turned his head and looked out over the water.

'It's easy to get caught up in all this,' he said, 'to turn it all into views and spaces, but for a lifestyle magazine that's not enough.'

He turned his head and looked at me. Don't stop talking.

'Our readers want dreams, and dreams need people.'

I looked at him as he got down on his knee and took a shot of the spiral staircase leading up to the balcony of the master bedroom.

'So what dreams are you selling?' I said, still holding both glasses. How long had he been here? Half an hour? No matter what dreams he was offering, I was happy to eat them off his hand.

'The dream of a better life. Everybody buys into that one,' he said, turning his head and looking at me again. 'More wants more, right? You must feel that sometimes too?'

He was sizing me up like he had done with the house as he came in. As I tried to imagine what was going through his head, he straightened up holding the camera by the lens.

'So how do you populate those dreams?' I said, feeling my mouth get dry. I took a sip of my wine and wetted my lips.

'It only takes one or two photos, but they add another layer of reality. Most of the time they're cliches, but that's what the readers want. People want their prejudices confirmed. If the feature is of a country estate, they want the owner in his Barbour jacket with a broken gun resting on his arm and a dog with a bird in its mouth. If it's a place in the city, it could be a family photo taken in the library, or maybe the kids baking with their mum. It's so banal it's embarrassing, but those are the photos we're getting paid to take.

'So, what do you suggest here?' I said, looking around, as if this place was just as new to me as it was to him.

'Well, this place is about the water, isn't it?'

It wasn't a question, and he didn't wait for an answer.

'You standing in front of the rail, will feel posed. We need one of the recliners. We've just walked in on you having a moment to yourself.'

I could feel myself nodding even though the thought of me being in the photos had not even occurred to me.

'What should I wear? I mean, I should get changed right?'

I had a feeling jeans and spaghetti straps were not what his dreams were made of.

'Something that shows that you're just here on your own, having a quiet moment,' he said.

'Something a little revealing. Something you wouldn't wear if you had an audience.' Again, he looked like he was sizing me up.

'Can you do that for me?'

I nodded again. Stop nodding all the time; use your mouth.

'I'll see what I can find,' I said. I could feel my heart rate taking off.

Before I got to the top of the stairs, I had decided what to wear. I got the dress out of the closet and hung it next to the mirror, then I took off my clothes. I walked out on the balcony and had a quick peek. Down below he was setting up a tripod. He. It suddenly dawned on me that I didn't even know his name.

I walked back inside and went straight for the drawer with my underwear. I rummaged through it, finding a pale blue set that was almost entirely made up of laces. I put it on and looked in the mirror. If the dress was going to come off, this underwear was not going to hide much, but maybe that was okay. I took the dress off the hanger and put it on.

It was perfect. It reached just above my knees. Nothing too revealing but still plenty of cleavage and short enough to show off my tanned legs.

As I came back outside, he turned and looked at me. He didn't say anything, but I could see the approval in his eyes and I was pretty sure I could see something else.

'So, the recliner?' I said, picking up my glass. He didn't answer, which I took as a yes, so I

put on my sunglasses and lay down. I reclined the back rest just enough for me to be able to sip my wine.

Without saying anything, he got to work.

He took a couple from one side, then some from the other side. From below, and then from above.

With my sunglasses on, I could finally let my eyes feast on him without worrying about getting caught. I could see the concentration in his eyes as he worked his way around me.

He must have taken a couple dozen photos when he lowered the camera, and looked at me, as if he was trying to decide what was next.

Without taking my eyes off him, I pulled up my right leg a little letting the dress slide halfway off my thigh. The sliding fabric was like a curtain revealing the stage where a magnificent play was about to begin. The eight million structure that up until now had been the main protagonist, was no longer of any interest.

He bit his lip before lifting the camera again. As he moved closer, I bent the other leg too, pressing my knees together. From the right angle, he would have a clear view of my panties. It didn't take him long to find just that position. This was unlike anything I had done before, but as he continued taking photos, I could feel the excitement of being the centre of attention.

For a second the thought that my husband might see these photos flashed through my head. He would probably like them, and he had asked me to make the photographer's visit successful, hadn't he? Was that not exactly what I was doing?

Instead of waiting for instructions, I slowly let one of my knees fall sideways giving him a full view of my pale blue lace panties. There was a brief pause in the sound of the shutter clicks, but then it picked up again.

I watched him closely as he moved around. It was impossible not to notice the bulge in his suit trousers. I wasn't the only one getting excited by all this.

'Place your right hand on your knee,' he said.

It didn't sound like a suggestion, more a command.

'Like this?' I said, as I moved my hand down the length of my thigh.

Taking hold of my knee I pulled it up towards my chest giving him a hint of my ass. Then I let my hand slide back up the inside of my thigh stopping when I could feel the edge of my panties against the back of my thumb.

'Will this go in the magazine?' I whispered, letting the nail of my thumb trace along the hem where my panties met my thigh.

'Are these the kind of dreams you are selling?'

'It could be,' he said, as he moved right up close, getting down on one knee next to the recliner.

'Your panties are getting wet,' he whispered, as I heard him take yet another photo.

I bit my lip feeling myself blush. I moved my hand down between my thighs. He wasn't lying.

'Don't hide anything from me,' he whispered.

For a second, I wondered if my husband had briefed him about what I liked, or was he just taking a chance giving me commands like that? I could feel my thighs shake as I slowly moved my hand. He had the lens so close to me. I bit my lip trying to suppress my breathing.

'I want you to reach down,' he said, 'and slowly hook your finger under the lace.'

It felt like he was a tiger hiding in the long grass waiting to spring into action. The sound of the shutter had stopped, and I sensed nothing would happen until I did what I was being told.

I steadied my hand as I reached down pushing a finger under the fabric. He wasn't lying; they were wet alright. If he had looked at my face and seen my blushing, he might have given me a way out, but his eyes were elsewhere.

'Pull your panties to the side,' he said.

I could feel myself shaking my head. It was probably the part of me that had been brought up knowing the meaning of decent behaviour that was trying not to give up all control. But I could feel it was already too late, and my finger was already doing what I was being told.

'How did you get so wet?' he said as he took a close-up.

'I don't know,' I said, pausing. 'How did you get so hard?'

Without answering my question, he stood up again.

'Do you see much of your neighbours?' he said.

My eyes drifted across to the house next door. The part that overlooked us was mainly made up of glass. All you could see right now was the reflection of trees, water and sky.

It was a banker and her husband who had bought the house. We saw them regularly. They had even invited us to their chalet to go skiing with them, but I was not about to tell him that.

'Not much,' I said.

'They might get to see a lot more of you today,' he said as he took another photo.

'Don't you think they would like to see more than just me?' I whispered, reaching out for him.

I could see that he was torn. Maybe there was some code of conduct to do with photography that I didn't know about, or maybe he only knew how to work one piece of machinery at a time. He was just close enough for me to be able to stretch my arm and reach his crotch. I ran the tip of my fingers down what looked like the length of his erection before he pulled away.

'I thought that was for me,' I said, trying to sound a little disappointed.

'You have to be patient,' he said, 'we've got work to finish.'

I wondered if he was going to try to persuade me to put my name on some kind of modelling contract once we were done, or were the photos just for his own entertainment when he was lying awake at 2am wondering when his career would take off?

'Turn around,' he said.

I put my glass down and then, without taking my eyes off him, I rolled onto my side.

'Like this?' I said.

'On your hands and knees.'

I wonder if I would have done what he asked if he hadn't had a camera. As it was, I didn't even hesitate.

'Like this?'

Instead of answering he came up and stood right next to me.

'Instead of your hands, get down on your elbows.'

If the neighbours were hoping for a show, I could feel they were about to get it.

'Do you get all your models to lie with their ass in the air like this?'

'Not all of them,' he said, as he moved a strand of hair behind my ear. I held my breath as he let the back of his hand trace my jaw bone, before following the curve of my neck. As he reached my collar bone, he followed it across to my cleavage and downwards, not stopping until the button of my dress put an end to the trajectory of his hand.

'I think this one is starting to be in the way,' he said, as his hand started unbuttoning the front of my dress.

'What do you imagine?' I said, as his hands continued working the buttons, one at a time.

'Let's keep it on but a little differently,' he said, pulling the straps off my shoulders. One at a time, I pulled my arms through until the upper part of my dress sat bunched up around my waist.

Gravity and my being on my elbows were putting a strain on my bra.

Taking a closeup of my cleavage, it had not escaped his attention. I expected him to go straight for the clasp, but he was in no hurry. Instead, I felt the back of his fingers again, this time against my throat.

I took a deep inhale of breath as they started a journey down my breasts, before he slowly pressed them into my cleavage.

'Do you know what you really need between your breasts?' he whispered, looking down at me.

'I have no idea,' I whispered, putting on my most innocent voice.

'Don't move,' he said, 'don't you move an inch.'

I watched him as he put down the camera next to my drink. I was about to remind him of his task at hand when he reached down and opened his belt. Squeezing them together, I could feel my thighs shake. Maybe the talk about work ethics should be left for later. My eyes were glued to his hands, as he undid the button and zipped down his fly. He pushed his trousers halfway down his thighs letting me see the shape of his cock in his briefs.

'Is that for me?' I whispered looking up at him.

'You look like you need it, don't you?' he said, moving close enough to let me press my face against his crotch. Pushing my face against his bulge, I could feel his hard cock press back against my cheek.

'I need it pretty bad,' I said, as I lifted my hand and hooked two fingers under the elastic of his underwear. Slowly, slowly I pulled at the elastic letting the head of his cock peek out before pulling them down, inch by inch, until the full length of his cock was pushing against my face. It was warm and hard and soft and perfect.

As I looked up, I was looking right into the lens. I'd thought he had decided to leave the camera for now, but he clearly wanted to make sure the details were preserved.

With one hand, he pushed his underwear down as far as he could reach, and then he inched a little further forward letting me take his balls in my mouth.

As I started sucking them, I felt his hand against my face, as he took hold of his cock and started stroking it. I could tell from his sounds that he was enjoying it, but hopefully he was not planning on cumming any time soon.

Slowly, I moved my mouth from his balls and up the underside of his cock and then over his fingers and knuckles. His precum was already running down over his hand, and I licked it all off letting my mouth continue up to the head of his cock.

I was just getting started teasing the underside of the head with my tongue when I felt him grab a handful of my hair before feeding the head of his cock into my mouth. I ran my hand over his stomach as he started fucking my mouth in a slow steady rhythm.

And then he must have put the camera down, because I felt his hand glide into my bra squeezing my nipple hard. The pinch made me moan against his cock, which made it jerk in my mouth making him pinch my nipple even harder. Dear God, please don't let him cum yet.

Almost immediately he stopped his slow thrusting into my mouth making me wonder if he had direct access to my thoughts.

He picked up the camera again. I couldn't help admiring his willpower. When he'd put it down, I'd thought that was it for the photos. I stayed on my knees and elbows as he moved down towards my back. Knees and elbows. Was that not a nursery rhyme or something?

With my breasts out of my bra, I could feel my nipples graze against the fabric of the chair making it impossible to resist the temptation to rock back and forth a little. Turning my head and looking at him, I could see that he liked the movement. His eyes were darting all over before zoning in on my ass.

'What are you up to back there?' I said, as if there were a whole multitude of options.

Instead of answering my question he resumed with the photos.

I was ready for him to put away the camera, but I wasn't going to ask him. If he wanted somebody to beg him, he would have to turn to one of his teenage models for that.

To tease him, I swayed my ass back and forth a little. I was just about to comment on his self-control when I felt a finger glide along the elastic of my panties before pushing underneath the material. So, he was human after all. I felt him pull my panties halfway down one ass cheek before sliding his hand across to the other doing the same thing. Moving back and forth like that, he slowly worked my panties until they were sitting halfway down my thighs. Then he lifted the camera and the sound of the shutter returned.

That was it; everything I had to show was out in the open. At least that was what I thought, as I rested my head on my arms, casting a glimpse across to the neighbour.

'Reach back and spread your ass cheeks for me,' he whispered.

For a second, I wondered if maybe I had mis-heard him, but the way I could feel myself blushing, I was pretty sure I had heard him just fine.

'Spread your ass for me,' he repeated.

Nobody had ever asked me that before, and this guy had a camera. Part of me wanted to say no, but it was long time ago we had moved past the point where I could pretend to be a prim housewife.