Chapter 3 : Under His Spell
Part 1: The Groomers
John settled into the worn leather booth at the back of the coffee shop, sliding a thick manila envelope across the table toward Cassie. The low hum of conversation masked their meeting from curious ears, but John was always careful. They weren't doing anything illegal. Just... sensitive.
Cassie's slim fingers flipped the envelope open, and a fan of glossy prints spilled out onto the scratched wooden table.
"Five new girls this week," John said, stirring his black coffee. His eyes stayed on Cassie, sharp and assessing. "Pretty much the usual split."
Cassie nodded absently, already sorting the photographs into piles with practiced efficiency. She barely glanced at the first few: a blonde in heavy makeup, pouting desperately at the camera; a brunette in a skimpy bikini, her hunger for fame almost leaking off the page. They were what Cassie called
temporary girls
. Good for a few scenes, a few fast bucks. Disposable.
Then she came to
her
.
Cassie's hand paused, fingers trembling faintly on the edge of the photo. It was different -- a candid family shot. No makeup, no forced expression. Just a girl, standing between her parents at Yosemite Falls, looking shy, serious, pristine.
The girl had skin like polished porcelain, long black hair braided neatly down her back, and eyes that seemed to hold entire worlds inside them.
Cassie looked up sharply. "Who's this?"
John smiled slightly. He had been waiting for this.
"Ann," he said. "Nineteen. College sophomore. Straight A's. Switched majors from math to art history. Lost her scholarship. She's broke."
Cassie's eyes glittered with interest. She lifted the photo, studying it under the pendant lamp above their table. "Has she posed yet?"
John leaned back. "Two sessions. First contact was a week and a half ago."
Cassie's eyebrows lifted. "That quickly?"
"Yeah," John said, a trace of admiration in his voice. "Stage 2 already. Topless last shoot."
Cassie whistled under her breath. "That girl? Stage 2?" She shook her head in disbelief, a slow smile spreading across her lips. "She's hungry. But she doesn't even know
for what
yet."
John nodded. "Exactly."
Cassie flipped through the rest of the stack, finding the second session photos -- the topless set. The early ones were tentative: Ann clutching an oversized white shirt against her chest, smiling shyly. But as Cassie moved through the photos, a transformation took place. Ann's poses grew bolder, her smiles softer, more secret. By the end, she was sitting on the studio's cream leather couch, stripped down to sheer lace panties and black heels, her bare breasts exposed without shame.
And her
eyes
.
Her gaze pierced straight through the camera, through John behind the lens, straight into the viewer. It wasn't just consent. It was
invitation
.
Cassie leaned back, savoring the tingling that crept along her skin.
"When she sees this photo," Cassie murmured, tapping the last one, "she's going to love it. She's going to see herself --
really
see herself -- for the first time."
She smiled knowingly. "She's going to want more."
John chuckled. "You think?"
"I
know
," Cassie said. "Be patient. Send her the second set tomorrow. Tell her she looks amazing. Suggest that if she wants to do more... maybe full nude... she can. Give her the ability to say no, but leave the door open."
John nodded. That was always the trick:
let them come to you.
Cassie leaned forward, her voice dropping lower. "And when you schedule the next shoot -- have me there. Finishing up my own nude shoot. Let her see me relaxed, comfortable. Let her think,
maybe I can talk to her
. She'll need a friend."
John tucked the photos back into the envelope, careful, precise.
Cassie rose from the booth, slinging her leather jacket over her shoulder. "Good luck," she said, tossing him a wink. "Let me know what she decides."
And just like that, she was gone.
John sipped his coffee, smiling to himself.
He already knew.
Ann was going to say
yes.
Part 2: Becoming the Image
The laptop glowed softly in the dim afternoon light, perched precariously on the edge of the kitchen table. Ann sat in front of it, her slender fingers hovering uncertainly above the touchpad.
Her heart raced.
It had been three days since her last photoshoot--three days of nervous energy simmering inside her.
She had tried to focus on her Art History reading, tried to
forget
how intoxicating it had felt to stand topless under the studio lights with John's camera worshipping her every curve.
But she couldn't.
When her phone buzzed with the new email notification, she knew exactly who it was.
John.
Subject: Your Photos
I hope you love the photos as much as I do. Let me know if you want another photo session. Maybe another topless or full nude. Nothing sexual.
--John
Ann's thighs clenched automatically. A rush of warmth pooled low in her belly.
She glanced at the clock.
Tiffany wouldn't be home for another hour.
Plenty of time.
Ann bit her lip, already feeling a treacherous dampness between her legs, and double-clicked the file attachment.
Her breath caught.
The first photo appeared.
Her.
In the tight white sweater, nipples outlined plainly against the soft fabric.
The black lace bra barely hidden underneath.
Jeans hugging her hips. Black heels giving her legs that longer, leaner line.
Is that really me?
she wondered, heart thudding painfully.
The girl on the screen was radiant. Dangerous.
Hungry.
Ann clicked to the next photo--and gasped quietly.
Her sweater was off. She stood in only her black bra and jeans, arms crossed just below her breasts, pushing them up provocatively. Her smile was small, almost secretive, like she knew something the viewer didn't.
The ache between her legs sharpened.
Another click.
Now the bra was gone too.
Just jeans.
Just skin.
Breasts bare and high, nipples hard and flushed. Her hair tumbled down around her shoulders in artful disarray.
She looked... almost wild.
Ann squeezed her thighs together under the table, a soft whimper escaping her lips.
I want to be her,
she realized, almost dizzy with the thought.
I want to be the girl in the photos. Free. Beautiful. Unapologetic.
On impulse, she stood up, tugging her sweater over her head.
The cool air kissed her flushed skin.
Next her jeans. She wiggled them down over her hips, stepping out of them quickly.
The bra and panties followed, peeled away with trembling fingers.
She tossed everything onto the chair without thinking.
Now fully nude except for the faint blush painting her cheeks, Ann sat back down, breathing hard.
She was wet. Soaked, really.
She clicked through more photos, one after another, feeling like her soul was slowly being bared alongside her body.
Then she saw the final shot--and it
wrecked
her.
There she was, sprawled on John's studio couch, wearing only those sheer black panties and her heels.
Legs draped elegantly over the armrest, arms behind her head, breasts proudly exposed.
Her eyes locked with the camera lens--smoldering, bold, hungry.
Ann gasped again, her body convulsing lightly.
The pleasure burst through her before she could stop it, leaving her trembling, skin damp with sweat and arousal.
Before her mind could catch up, her fingers found the keyboard and typed:
Loved the photos. Full nude, yes. When?
She hit send without hesitation.
Only then did the reality of what she had just done start to trickle back in.
The shower.
She needed a shower--
now.
She staggered to her feet, unsteady, and hurried toward the bathroom, leaving the laptop open and her discarded clothes puddled next to it.
The water turned hot quickly, and she stepped into the steam, letting it wash over her heated body.
She sighed, trying to center herself.
The front door clicked open.
Ann froze, mid-rinse.
Tiffany.
Panic clutched her chest.
Oh God--
She realized too late that she hadn't brought her robe.
The only thing she had was a towel--small, thin, barely covering her.
Footsteps approached the bathroom.
"Ann?" Tiffany's voice rang out.
Ann wrapped herself in the towel quickly, water still dripping from her hair and skin.
She cracked the bathroom door open and peered out.
Tiffany stood there, an eyebrow raised, her backpack still slung over one shoulder.
"Why are you showering in the middle of the day?" Tiffany asked, suspicious but amused.
Her gaze flicked down to the towel barely clinging to Ann's damp body.
Ann felt her cheeks burn.
"I...uh...worked out," she stammered. "Got all sweaty. Needed to rinse off."
Tiffany smirked.
"Really? You never work out."
Ann could
feel
Tiffany's gaze, skeptical and curious, lingering just a little too long.
Then Tiffany's eyes slid past her--toward the kitchen.
Ann's heart stopped.
Her laptop still sat open on the table, screensaver dancing lazily across the screen.
But it wouldn't take much--one wrong click--and Tiffany would see everything.
Every photo. Every inch of her.
Her clothes still sat there too, a messy pile that screamed
something happened here.
Tiffany shrugged eventually, tossing her bag onto the couch.
"Whatever," she said casually, but there was a strange glint in her eye. "Your secret's safe with me."
Ann swallowed hard, gripping the towel tighter around herself.
