It’s making me go fucking wild in a feral, beastly way.
I want to watch her more closely. I want to take in every curve, every sound, every breath.
I want her to be my muse in every way.
Against my better judgment, I pull my cell phone from my pocket and open the camera app. I know what I’m doing is wrong. It’s an invasion of privacy, not to mention illegal, as I’m photographing her without consent, plus whatever copyright or trademark law I’m stomping all over for Brian here, but none of that matters to me.
I want to keep this moment permanently seared into my memory. I want to access it anytime I’d like. I want to paint it.
I snap a photo here, and a photo there, taking another step closer to get a better angle.
I’m watching her through the screen of my phone when they move to change their positions a bit… but then her eyes drift over the darkness and land on me and widen with recognition.
Fuck.
Nora
Sometimes I wonder why I agree to these types of shoots, that is until I get out here. I knew tonight was going to be chilly, but man, the wardrobe for this set is so thin. I’m grateful for the lights that feel like heat lamps. This white dress is so sheer, I’m surprised it doesn’t show off every imperfection on every part of my body. I do feel beautiful in it though.
The dress floats away from me but seems to hug my frame in all the right places. The hair department decided to take advantage of the low humidity and have my hair wavy and long down my back. They kept telling me how jealous they were that this was my real hair and astonished that they wouldn’t need to use extensions. Having a flush to my cheeks was easy. The rawness around me filled that in. Every so often a breeze would blow up and brush across my skin.
One thing I’ve come to realize I also enjoy is working with someone I don’t know. They don’t have preconceived notions about who you are, where you’ve been, and what you’re like. It’s all about work. That’s just fine with me. Gavin seems nice enough. I’ve seen him in print ads before for some very well-known clients, so I knew I was at least working with a professional.
We started early, before the sun set. I thought I’d have been on my way home by now, but the photographer Brian said he loved the seductiveness the night was giving him and asked if we’d indulge him a bit. I didn’t mind. The client was willing to pay the overtime.
“Can we get a touch up on her lipstick?” our photographer calls out to our makeup entourage. She rushes in to smooth everything out. I test my pout for a second. He was right. It does feel more even.
“Is what I’m doing working for you, Brian?” I ask. I always ask. It’s in my nature to please, even when I’m being paid.
“It’s working, it’s beautiful. We just need a bit more from him.”
I can hear Gavin’s small sigh and catch a slight eye roll in my peripheral vision. I try as best I can to hide the smile it gives me. I think my partner for the night can sense my amusement, so he holds his arm even tighter around me. He then leans in and whispers in my ear, “Thanks for not feeding it.”
“All right, Nora, Gavin. Let’s continue.”
The crew scurries away at Brian’s gruff request while Gavin turns his body into mine, and with a toss of my hair and my hand resting on his chest, I’m ready to get back at it. We do any number of poses. Sometimes his lips are on my neck. Sometimes I rest my cheek on his back.
The next pose I try is one that just came to me on a whim. I hold Gavin at bay with my right hand, my arm is fully extended. I turn my body away to face the same direction he is. When I gaze off into the distance, the slight reflection of something shiny in the glow of a far-away street lamp catches my eye.
I turn my chin at several angles to keep the posing machine going while giving my eyes time to figure out what the object is. In giving my eyes time to adjust, I see that the object is the back of a phone. The phone is connected to a hand. The hand has a watch around the wrist, and the wrist has a ring that covers most of one finger.
A neighboring light, that once hadn’t been working, in the distance suddenly illuminates enough to backlight the shadow. For a moment I’m petrified. I think Gavin could feel me shake and clasps his hands over mine. In the next moment I’m less afraid and am more of a combination between confused and curious. The hand attached to the phone belongs to Professor Sloane.
All the questions start to rattle through my mind. What is he doing here? Why is he taking pictures of me? Doesn’t he get that this is beyond inappropriate?
My questioning also breaks my concentration. Brian yells cut. I shake out my arms and my neck. “I’m sorry. I got distracted. Let me get a sip of water and I’ll be ready to go again.”
He lets me free for two minutes. I don’t take my eyes off him. He doesn’t move and doesn’t take his eyes off of me. This feels like a game, but what kind? I walk back over to our lit area and step back into my character for the evening. It happens that Brian shifts over in the direct line with the Professor. If I am the sun, Brian is the earth and Professor Sloane is the moon on the opposite side. Maybe this is the one time those orbits will collide.
Brian yells for us to move again. Everything I do, I decide, must be in slow motion. It’s another dance, just like the club. I have zero reason for wanting to put on a show, but I can’t help it. There’s something about the way he looks at me.
I act like I’m looking at Brian’s camera. I’m not. I’m focused on the cell phone just over his left shoulder. Every pout of my lips, cock of my hip, arm raised over my head, bend of my waist…they’re all for the man behind the camera.
“Jesus, girl. I should give you two minutes more often. This set is gold.”
Tristan
I’m practically a ticking time bomb by the time I step into the darkness that is my penthouse. The only light is the moonlight streaming through the windows mixed with the random lights from surrounding buildings.
My skin is alive with energy, even the swish of my clothes against it as I walk feels like a million electroshocks all over me.
Her body, the way she looked, the way she moved, fuck, that image will stick with me forever. She drives me fucking mad, and goddamn if I don’t like it.
But it pisses me off.
I shouldn’t want to wrap my arms around a student and pull her in close so that I can feel her heat and smell the sweet scent of gardenias that I just know resides in her hair.
My cock shouldn’t be growing hard at the thought of marching across that street to her, cameras be damned, and taking her up against the wall she was posing so perfectly against.
On any other night when I’m thrumming with this type of energy, I’d beckon Katya, Christa, or one of the other women at my disposal to fuck it out of my system, but none of them feel even the slightest bit interesting to me right now. None of them would scratch this particular itch. Nora is the only woman on my mind, the only woman my body will even accept.
I spend the next hour pacing my apartment, trying in vain to paint, to play music, to run, but nothing eases the ache. I’m pouring sweat from exhaustion and frustration when I finally step into the shower.
It’s a large, all glass affair with a rain feature that will send much needed scalding hot water all around me and engulf me in steam.