Spring Brea Vacation

First Nude Shoot

Last night was a haze. She recalled arriving at the beach house and spending some time explaining to her friends how lost she had gotten. They started giggling and poking fun at her when she mentioned a cute boy named Ricky that gave her directions to the beach house. Her friends were already three-fifths of the way to drunk, so she only had to endure their interrogation for a few minutes before Carla reminded them of the beer and boys awaiting them on the beach.

Carla had drunk too much, too quickly.

Thank God I passed out so early,

she thought. Even so, she had only awoken with enough time to shower, pop a couple ibuprofen, and jump in her car.

******

The reality of posing nude was only now beginning to sink in, standing outside Ricky's office door.

Am I really doing this?

Carla thought.

She would be on the internet. Forever.

What if my friends see it?

she thought.

What about my parents?

But there was no backing down now. There was no way she could explain things to her father at this point, a day after the accident. She resolved to follow through. A week of modeling nude for a middle-aged stranger.

Things could be worse, right?

Carla took a deep breath and knocked.

A moment of breathless waiting. "Come in."

The room was different today. The lights were still there but two video cameras were positioned around a wooden stool. And the changing stall was gone. She stared at the empty space where it had been, her eyes drawn to it's absence.

They greeted, she signed a set of model release forms, then Ricky gestured toward the wooden stool in the middle of the stage. "Go ahead and sit down," he said. "The cameras will capture anything I miss with this." He lifted same camera he had used yesterday.

The stool sent shivers up her, cold wood touching bare thigh. "It's cold," she said, smiling nervously. She wore a white tank top and a black lace demi bra underneath, the edges of which peeked out from the white top. She had thought it daring and sexy this morning, now she felt foolish. Her denim shorts were cut just below her ass. Her feet were covered by Chuck Taylor's and white ankle socks.

"It'll warm up," he said, smiling. "So, are you ready for this Carla?"

"Yeah, I think so," Carla said

.

Ricky changed positions and made eye contact with her. His expression was serious. "You're getting naked today, and none of that nervous crap you gave me yesterday, you understand? I'm paying you what I would pay a professional, so I expect a professional."

Heartbeat rising. "I understand."

"Good," he said, his demeanor relaxing. "Good. I'm going go interview you for the video first." He gestured to one of the two cameras. "Look at that one when you answer my questions."

Carla angled herself on the stool to face the camera. "I'm ready."

"State your name and age, please."

"I'm Carla," she said. There was a too-long pause, then, remembering the second question, "Oh, and I'm eighteen."

The change in Ricky's face was almost imperceptible. But Carla glimpsed the impatience in his eyes. She could barely contain her nervous energy without fidgeting.

"When did you turn eighteen?"

"About three months ago."

"You told me yesterday you're Mexican, is that right?"

"Yeah."

The interview continued with mundane questions—where she wanted to go to school, what she wanted study, what she wanted to do after college—by the end, she was finally warming up to the whole process again when Ricky, as casual as a walk in the park, said, "Take off your shirt."

"Right now?" she asked, dumbly.

Ricky smiled at her, the impatience simmering to the surface. "Of course."

Carla licked her lips, which suddenly seemed very dry.

Okay, you signed up for this, now it's time to follow through.

She pinched the waistline of her tank top and pulled it up over her head before dropping it to the ground.

That's not so bad, right?

The demi bra covered more of her body than the bikini she had worn yesterday. And the black lace material did a decent job of camouflaging the erect state of her nipples.

"Your breasts are very small," Ricky said. "What size bra do you wear?"

"32 A," Carla said, cheeks burning at his assessment.

"And your weight?"

"Um... ninety or ninety-five pounds."

Ricky took several pictures. He directed Carla through a few poses sitting on the stool, and standing next to it.

"Shorts off," Ricky said. "Keep the shoes on."

A short pause. Her confidence had been shaken by the comment about her breasts. Then, because there was no other choice. "Okay."

Carla dropped her shorts next to her shirt, revealing a small black thong.

"Mm. Yes, very good," Ricky said. "The members will love this. You shave your pussy, right?"

Eye's cast down at her shoes. "Yes."

"Look at the camera and say that again."

"Y-yes," she said, forcing herself to stare at the cold lens.

"'Yes' what?"

She looked at him for a moment before realizing what he wanted. "Yes, I shave."

He rolled his eyes. "You shave what?"

Carla took a deep breath and fought down the sudden urge to run straight for the door and back to her car. "I shave my pussy."

The humiliation was worse because she had given in so easily.

"Good girl," he said. "And when did you start shaving?"

"I don't know. Since I was fifteen maybe."

Ricky nodded. "How often do you masturbate."

Carla closed her eyes.

Just get through this.

"Every other day maybe."

"Wow. Good girl," he said, smiling in approval. "That's more often than most girls. Do you watch porn while you masturbate?"

God, I can't answer these questions.

"Sometimes."

"Take off the bra. It's time to see your tits."

The bra came off without hesitation, so relieved was she to be done with the embarrassing questions.

"Mmm. Excellent," Ricky said. "Great shape, nice nipples."

Carla felt a strange mixture of shame and pride at the compliment.

Ricky spent a long time directing her. As with the day before, she slowly became used to posing for him. Her embarrassment and humiliation could only last so long, it seemed, before the emotions burned themselves out. She was left with something odd in their place.

She could tell that Ricky was taking his time. He was allowing her to become accustomed to her nudity. Having her, bit by bit, position herself in ever more revealing ways.

"Alright, you're doing very good, Carla," Ricky said. "Turn around and bend over that stool."

A moment later her ass was facing the camera, hands on her knees, back arched, knee's slightly bent, when Ricky told her drop her panties. While everything she did for Ricky was accompanied by an undercurrent of shame, she still found it easy to slide her panties down her legs and to the floor.

"Stay," he commanded. "Don't move." The camera flashed again and again on her bare ass, pussy peeking from between her legs.

"Look over your shoulder," he said. "Yes, that's it. No, don't smile. Bite your lip."

Her face was flushed with shame and, perhaps, something more.

"I don't want them in the pictures," Ricky explained as he gathered her clothes and threw them in a desk drawer. "Sit on the stool"

The cold stool raised goosebumps on her arms and thighs. She thought about the absurdity of her situation. Here she was (the most conservative of her friends!) sitting on a cold wooden stool in a stranger's office, wearing only her Chuck Taylor's.

Ricky moved in close with the camera. "Knees apart," he said.

Carla spread her knees, exposing her pussy to him. She had never been scrutinized in such a way. The black lens clicked at her most intimate parts. Shame hung about her like a heavy fog. But not shame for exposing herself. Shame for

enjoying

it.

A few more positions, a dozen or so more pictures. "Alright," he said, "let's take a break."

He tossed her a bottle of water and made the rounds to his cameras, powering them down. She stood awkwardly between the stool and his desk, wanting to get her clothes, but not really seeing the point. Eventually, she sat in Ricky's chair. It was more comfortable than the stool and seemed more out of the way as Ricky worked. She didn't touch the drawer that hid her clothing.

Ricky swapped batteries and memory cards, checked the plugs on the lights, and smoothed out the white curtain. Then he did something that brought the shame and humiliation right back to the forefront of Carla's mind. He took a rag and wiped her juices off the stool before moving it to the side. Horrified, she reached between her legs and found her pussy soaking. Worse, she was practically buzzing with the need to be touched.

What's wrong with you?

she thought.

You

can't

be aroused by this!

"Back to work," he said, as if nothing unusual had happened.

Carla stood up, conscious of the wet spot she left in his chair. She walked, the slickness of her thighs evidence of just how aroused she had become. She was burning with humiliation, suffocating in shame, and

needing

to be touched.

"On the ground," Ricky said. "Hands and knees."

Like a dog,

she thought, equal parts arousal and dismay.

Ricky photographed her from several angles before bringing her elbows to the ground, lowering her face and raising here ass high in the air. Further still, he stretched her arms forward until she had to turn her face sideways, pressing her burning cheek to the ground.

"Very good," he said. "Stay like that."

I can't believe I'm doing this,

she thought.

Ricky went to his desk and pulled a large bottle out of a drawer. "Oil," he said, snapping the cap open. "It might be cold."

Carla felt the first chill line of oil run from the small of her back to the base of her neck, making her shiver. Making her moan. Had Ricky touched her at the moment, she would have welcomed it.

Instead, he drizzled it on her ass cheeks and told her to rub it in herself. When her ass was smooth and shiny, he told her to get back into her position. The next drizzle made her jump as Ricky poured it directly onto her asshole and down her pussy.

"Stay," he commanded, pouring it out in excess.

The position of her body meant the excess oil ran down her thighs and pooled on the floor. A thick line of it made it to her navel before joining the growing puddle.

"Rub your clit," he said, and the command was a relief because her need was so great.

She sighed as she made contact, shaking fingers drawing circles around her sensitive clit. Her breathing intensified, her chest expanding and contracting too quickly, leaving her short of breath.

"No," Ricky said, as she tried to insert a finger into her pussy. "I said rub your clit."

Carla groaned in defiance but obeyed his command. The bottle of oil was back in his hands, pouring on her shoulders, her arms, her legs. Soaking her hair.

Ricky kneeled next to her and pulled her Chuck Taylor's off, then her socks. "You like being told what to do, don't you?"

She pressed more firmly on her clit, the circles getting faster. "Mm-yes," she said, breathing through her teeth.

He poured out more oil on her feet and legs, back up to her ass and pussy. Her clit became so slick she was

losing

sensation, frustrating her.

"You want to cum, don't you?"

"Yes," she said, no hesitation. She was pressing firmly now, rubbing quickly up and down the length of her clit.

"No," he said. "Not yet."

She opened her eyes, questioning, still rubbing, still on the narrowing edge of release.

Ricky pulled her hand away from her clit. As Carla opened her mouth to protest he shoved something cotton and sweaty inside—

My socks!—

and clamped his hand tight over her lips. She breathed heavy through her nose, not able to catch her breath as fast as she was losing it.

"Keep those in your mouth and I'll let you cum," he said. "Spit them out and our whole arrangement is over. Understand?"

Carla nodded against his hand, desperate. "Good. Now make yourself cum."

Carla clamped her jaw down on her socks and used both hands to pleasure herself. One rubbing her clit, the other penetrating her aching pussy with two fingers. It took only moments to cum, her thighs trembling as she screamed, muffled by the socks in her mouth. Never had she cum so hard, not without a vibrator or a boy's mouth.

When the final waves receded she lay there heaving through her nose. She was dimly aware of Ricky leaving the room. Minutes later, he pulled the socks from her mouth and laid a towel in front of her.

She recovered slowly. As she did, she toweled off as much oil as possible from her body, but it was clear she would need a long hot shower to get rid of it all, especially to cleanse her hair.

Ricky worked silently at his desk as she cleaned up, her clothes still safely tucked in one of his drawers.

"My clothes?" she said.

He handed her a wad of cash. "Twelve hundred dollars," he said. "One thousand for the shoot. Two hundred for me to keep your bra and panties."

Carla didn't even try to protest, though she wanted to. She simply took the cash. Ricky handed her clothes to her as soon as she did, minus the bra and thong.

"Tomorrow," Ricky said as she dressed, "you're going to swallow my cum."

Carla froze with one leg in her shorts. She made eye contact with Ricky and saw no humor in his face. She looked down first, voice small, "I don't like cum."

"I didn't ask if you liked it," Ricky said. "9:00am."

Carla stepped into her shorts. She tried to speak but couldn't even organize her thoughts, let alone order them into coherent speech. She fingered the wad of cash again.

Finally, voice thin as a sheet of paper, "Okay."