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Whitney unlocks the door to her apartment and reaches in to flick on the light. I follow her, my eyes taking in her fit back and trim waist, the way her black dress hugs her hips. She’s picked a perfect outfit for the scene without even knowing it. I shut the door behind us with a gentle click.
“Why don’t you open us a bottle of red wine?” I suggest, dropping my voice into the Dom bass I use with her.
The ripple of goosebumps that rise across her bare shoulder is deeply satisfying.
“I’ll set everything up so we can get started. I promise you’ll be very satisfied with my work. Just remember, you have to trust my process.”
Whitney glances over her shoulder, the simple gold bar earring brushing her flesh. And her tongue dances across her lips. Making my way into her bedroom, I dig through her drawers to find the lingerie I’ll have her put on later. Then I pull out the polaroid camera I’ve been waiting to use.
When I enter the living room once again, Whitney’s already pouring ruby liquid into two stemmed wine glasses. She glances up at me, her eyes expectant.
“We can discuss payment afterward. But I assure you, we’ll have more than enough material for you to use in your portfolio. Why don’t we start with a few headshots?” I suggest, holding the camera up.
“Uh, yes, that sounds fine. Where would you like me?” she asks, glancing around the room.
“How about up against this wall?” The double meaning makes my voice rasp as I picture fucking her up against the wall I gesture to.
Whitney moves gracefully across the room to the plain section of wall and stands in front of it. I take her chin between my fingers, turning her face and tilting it up just slightly to accentuate her jawline. I don’t generally consider myself much of a photographer, but with a subject like this, tonight is going to be fun.
Stepping back, I snap a picture of her dramatic features, the naturally fierce look of her cat-eye makeup. The polaroid whizzes noisily, producing a black square a moment later, which I take and toss onto the accent table beside me. “Now face me.”
Whitney does, adopting a model’s intense look as she parts her lips slightly. She’s a natural. I take another picture and toss the second black square aside, not bothering to see the end result. Gradually, I shift from headshots to full-body poses, having her lean casually against the fireplace mantel and peer into the flickering flames, then recline casually along the couch, wine glass in hand. The slit of her dress falls open, revealing one long, muscular leg as she bends her knee to set a stilettoed foot on the couch. Her eyes watch me from across the distance, a fire in them telling me she’s enjoying this.
“I think we have a nice amount of wardrobe samples. Why don’t we move on to the boudoir collection? I assure you, my work is always classy and respectful. I’m a professional after all.”
“I’m sure you are. So far, your photos are nothing short of artistry,” Whitney acknowledges, picking up a stray polaroid and waving it to bring the image to life. Without another word, she rises and walks toward the bedroom, her heels clicking against the wood.
“I’ve already set out youroutfit. I’ll give you a moment to change. Just let me know when you’re ready–keep your heels on,” I add before she disappears.
Whitney turns to look at me as she grips the doorway to her room, her eyebrow cocking in subtle surprise. She expected me to watch. But tonight, I’m sticking to the script. I wait until she calls to me a few minutes later, letting me know she’s dressed, and I carry my camera down the hall, my cock beginning to harden with anticipation.
Dressed in a sheer black robe with soft frills where the fabric ends at her elbows and just below her hips, Whitney practically has her full body already on display. Her ribbed bodice lifts her breasts, enhancing her cleavage, and garter straps press into soft, supple flesh as they hold her matching thigh-high stockings in place. Her shoes work perfectly with the outfit, the heels making her strong calves flex. And the fabric of her stockings cling to her legs.
“Why don’t you get comfortable?” I suggest, gesturing to the bed.
She does, lying on her stomach and crossing her ankles in the air–just like she did when she was playing the schoolgirl trying to study. My balls tighten at the memory, and I focus my attention on capturing the best angle of her as she looks back at me and the camera. She bites her lip playfully, and I have to snap a second shot in that position before I tell her to flip over.
She does, striking poses like a model might. Showing off her lingerie with impressive understanding of how to make it and her look exceedingly enticing.
“Now, take off your shoes, and stand by the side of the bed. Put your foot up and start to take off your stocking,” I say.
I recline on the bed now, snapping photos as she does as she’s told, unhooking the garter straps before slowly sliding the stocking down over her leg.
“Good. Now the other,” I say.
A blush colors her cheeks as Whitney removes the second stocking as well, her movements slow and sensual.
“Take off your robe.”
I set the camera pointedly aside this time as she obeys, and her eyes flick toward it. Rising from the bed, I approach her slowly, not bothering to mask my wandering gaze.
“What are you–”
“I think it’s time we discuss payment,” I say pointedly as I reach her, my hands finding her waist.
“I–”
“As an photographer, I like to think of my work as art. Something beyond the price you can put on it with a dollar amount. So, why don’t we consider this more of a… favor. I did you a favor. Now it’s time for you to do one for me,” I breathe as I lean in close.
