Boyfriend Wants Photos

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She decided to get some nude photos.
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Ashson
Ashson
8,440 Followers

I recently found myself in the position where I had to repossess photographic equipment from a photographer. I fronted up to his studio to explain to him that he either had to pay a substantial amount on what was owed or forfeit the equipment.

Now my opinion of this guy was that he was a sleazy little bastard and I wouldn't let him near any of my female relatives to take photos. He's the sort of man who'd have illegal infrared lenses so he could take 'nude' photos of people fully dressed. I expected him to kick up a big stink about the money owed, resist paying anything at all, object strenuously to having any equipment repossessed, and generally making a thorough pain of himself before finding enough money to stave off the repossession.

He gave me the evil eye while I explained the facts of financial life and he surprised me at the end of it by shrugging.

"Fuck it," he said in a most heartfelt manner. "Take it. Take the lot. I don't give a shit. I'm two months overdue on the rent and I'm being evicted tomorrow and when I get evicted the landlord will seize all the equipment for back rent. I'm just as happy for you to take it. Happier. Your guys have given me some leeway and haven't been the complete asshole my landlord has. Just give me a receipt for everything here and you can pack it and go."

OK, if that's what he wanted I was only too happy to oblige. We did a quick inventory and all the equipment I was supposed to collect was there. I ticked it off and signed a receipt saying I'd collected it.

As soon as the receipt was in his pocket the guy shrugged and said, "That's it. I'm out of here. Here're the keys to the joint. Lock up when you leave or not, as you please."

"Ah, this is down as your home address," I pointed out. "If I need to reach you at all have you got a forwarding address?"

"Nope. I'll be interstate somewhere. I've already packed my clothes and things in my van and I'm leaving straight away before they come to repossess the van. Anyone who wants me is going to have to really search for me and I don't think they'll bother."

"I'm surprised that you haven't packed the photographic gear in the van as well."

"If you hadn't turned up I probably would have, rather than let the landlord get it. You timed it just right. See ya."

With that he turned and walked out the door. I was just about to start packing up the equipment when he stuck his head back in the door.

"Listen, mate, don't be in too much of a hurry to pack the stuff away. The big camera over there is already focused on the divan in front of the green screen. Just point and click. I have a real live customer due in about ten minutes. You might like to take a few shots for her, seeing she paid a deposit. Details are in the diary on the desk."

Then he was gone again. I assumed that the old table to the side was the desk he referred to. Checking it I found a diary. No computer for storing his photos, I noticed, although the marks on the desk indicated that there had been one sitting there. The computer was undoubtedly in his van with everything else he managed to salvage.

A glance at the diary showed very few entries. No wonder the guy had trouble making payments. No customers. The entry for today was due in a few minutes like he'd said. Interesting notes he had on his customer.

'Miranda - Ditzy blonde. Hot stuff. Deposit paid. Wants nudies for BF. Talk her into porn shots. Should have a ready market for this chick nude.'

Like I thought, a real sleaze.

It seemed simple to me. Miranda would turn up and I'd explain that her photographer had done a runner and she was out of luck. (In luck, actually, seeing what he intended.)

I started packing up some of the equipment and it was sheer chance that I happened to leave the main camera and lights set up the way they were. It seemed to me that I'd barely started the packing up when the door opened and a young lady walked in. I assumed that this was Miranda.

Hot stuff didn't start to describe her. Why she needed nude photos was a mystery to me. She light a fire in any man she met just standing there fully dressed. Not that what she was wearing could be described as being fully dressed. It was a warm day and Miranda had dressed accordingly. Short shorts, very tight short shorts, at that, and a tank top.

"You're Miranda, I presume," I said. "Here for some artistic photography."

"Um, I guess. I just wanted a few nude photos for my boyfriend. Where's Simon?"

"Unexpectedly out of town," I told her. "A permanent shift, I believe."

"But I've paid a deposit," she protested. "Who's going to take my pictures?"

"I can do that," I volunteered. "As soon as your chaperon arrives we can get to work."

"What do you mean, chaperon?"

"Didn't Simon suggest you bring one? I mean, you're going to be alone and naked with a strange man. Always wise to have someone covering your back."

"It wouldn't have mattered with Simon," she said, irritated. "He was gay."

"Uh-huh. And as soon as you were alone with him he'd have found the cure. I assume that this means no chaperon. Want to go and get one?"

"No. I can look after myself. I just want these photos done."

"OK. Put your clothes on that chair over there and take a seat on the divan. Why do you want nudies, anyway? Just look in a mirror."

"My boyfriend wants them, not me. He even offered to take them for me, but I preferred a professional."

"Why not your boyfriend?"

"Because then I would have needed a chaperon. We haven't reached that far in our relationship yet."

"Uh-huh. And what sort of nudes do you want. High-end, where you're nude but you don't exactly show any of your more private parts. Judicious placement of hands, arms, legs, etcetera, means that everything is by innuendo. Low-end is effectively the girl pointing at her genitals and saying 'look, I've got a pussy'. Trashy stuff but some people like it."

"I'm not doing porn," she said, sounding very definite about it. "The higher end will suit me fine."

By this time she'd finished undressing and I could see why the boyfriend wanted pictures of her like that. She was a marvel to behold. She wasn't particularly shy, either, just confidently trotting over to the divan and sitting down, not giving a damn what I saw. It was obvious to me that she did some nude sunbathing, getting a nice all-over tan.

She sat down on the divan, trying to look demure, and I took a couple of shots. As photographs, they were excellent. As photographs of a naked young lady, they were terrible. The camera did not like her. I have no doubts that a good professional would overcome these problems with sheer artistry, but that good professional was not me.

"These are terrible," I told her. "You look more plastic than a shop-window mannequin, but with less warmth. Can you smile a little? Project a little emotion?"

So she smiled and the camera showed her baring her teeth, ready to rip someone's throat out. The emotion she seemed to be projecting was sullen defiance mixed with anger. Give these to the boyfriend and he'd carry them around to show his friends what he escaped from.

"Not working," I said. "Lovely figure for a plastic doll, but that's about it. Why don't you imagine that your boyfriend is in my shoes behind the camera? Smile as though you're imagining the sexy time you will have with him after the photos are finished. Remember, smile with your eyes and lips. Gently curving lips. Not a grimace that bares the teeth as you prepare to go for the jugular."

The next set were even worse. I knew I was not the world's best photographer but I had never realised that I was apparently the world's worst. I sighed.

"Tell me, were you thinking sexy thoughts as instructed or mutinous rebellion, preparing for a slave uprising prior to putting the evil master to a gruesome death. Me in the place of the evil master from the look of these."

She came stalking over to see what the pictures were like, irritation surrounding her like a shroud.

"You have got to be kidding," she snapped when she saw them. "I have lots of pictures at home. I look wonderful in photos."

"You look wonderful standing there like that," I pointed out, which she did. "However the camera is picking up on your emotions and they're not coming across too well. Maybe the lack of clothes is stopping you projecting your feelings."

"I'm projecting my emotions with no problems," she snapped. "It's either a lousy camera or a lousy photographer."

"You are not projecting the right emotions," I told her. "I said think sexy, not fury. I don't think your heart is in giving these to your boyfriend."

"I was thinking sexy," she snapped. "How would you know what sexy looks like, anyway?"

"Well, this is just a guess, but I'd say that if you were really feeling sexy then these would be standing out, not just looking like dots painted on your chest." I flicked one of her nipples as I spoke. They certainly didn't seem to be excited about their current circumstance.

She spluttered and I think she was going to say something rude but I got in first.

"That's probably what you need. Someone to touch up your breasts a little, getting them slightly aroused. Sit down again and I'll see what I can do."

I steered her over to the divan, settling down onto beside her. I had one breast cupped with my thumb rubbing the nipple before she had time to react.

"You have lovely breasts, you know," I observed. "Surprisingly large for a girl of your stature, but you carry them well. No sag at all, I'm pleased to see."

"You get your hand off me," she said slowly and distinctly.

"Now don't be silly," I told her. "I'm just doing you a favour by encouraging your nipples to stand tall. The fact that your breasts are slightly aroused will carry over, making you look better."

My hand drifted over and started rubbing her other nipple. Her nipples were already reacting to my touch, puckering up and standing forth.

"There, isn't that much better," I said, withdrawing my hand before she could slap it away. "I think that'll just about do. Hmm, one last touch."

I leaned forward and captured a nipple with my mouth, gently sucking at it. Miranda made an outraged protest but that didn't stop me from moving over and tasting her other nipple. Then I was up and moving back to the camera.

"Now that's a lot better," I announced. "You at least look alive in this set. You'll need to lose the angry look, though. You want to project sex appeal and passion, not red-hot fury."

I got another look at that frustrated fury as she glared at me. I just smiled and ambled back over to the divan.

"Like I said, that group was better but I'm sure you can do a whole lot better yet again. Now recline along the divan facing me, there's a good girl. Now I'm going to rub you lightly to ease your nerves. You seem to be getting very jumpy. Don't worry, I won't be spending too much time on your breasts. They're doing quite nicely as they are."

I started rubbing her down, not concentrating on her breasts, as promised. I ran my hand down her side, heel of my hand and thumb just brushing against the swell of her breast. Over her hips and down her thighs before reversing, moving up her thighs across her bottom and circling around on her back and then stroking back down her thighs.

She was lying with her lower leg jutting forward slightly, bent at the knee, with her other leg pulled back a little. This time when I reached her knees my hand dropped from her upper leg to the lower, tracing back up along the inside of her leg. I wondered if she knew that lying the way she was gave me relatively free access to her pudenda.

She found out when my hand reached the top of her leg and started rubbing her mound. For some reason I was reluctant to move on and just continued stroking her there.

"You're touching me," she said in a very tense sounding voice.

"Well, yes," I agreed. "I said I'd be rubbing you a little, helping you relax."

"No. I mean you're 'touching' touching," she gasped. "You shouldn't be doing that."

I paused in my massage. "Oh, you mean here?" I asked, giving her a little squeeze.

"Yes, I mean there," she said quickly. "Just what do you think you're doing?"

"I thought we'd already covered that," I said, puzzled. "You know, getting you relaxed and slightly aroused. The arousal should show up quite nicely."

"You didn't say anything about getting me aroused. You just said you'd help me relax and that is not helping me relax."

"Oh. Still, as long as what I'm doing puts some emotion, some animation, into the pictures it's all to the good."

I resumed my massage. I mean, why not? My hand was already there and she hadn't made any effort to close her legs up and protect herself.

"You stop that," she said and then gave a small scream.

"Sorry," I said. "My finger slipped." (Slipped between her lips and apparently managed to touch down on a very sensitive place.)

"You're a liar," she said, sounding rather stressed. "You did that deliberately. Why are you doing this?"

I didn't say anything, just giving her a thoughtful look. Her eyes widened as she slowly caught on.

"Y-You want to fuck me, don't you."

"And they say blondes are dumb. You certainly worked that out fast enough."

"Well, you can't do it."

"Yes, I can. I've known how to fuck for quite few years now. There's no great trick to it."

"I mean I don't want you to do it."

"Why not?"

"Why not?"

"Yes. Why not? It's not as though you have an active boyfriend right now so I won't be trespassing on anyone's territory."

"I do have a boyfriend. That's why I'm here, remember?"

"No, you have a potential boyfriend that you're reluctant to sleep with. Therefore he's not really your boyfriend and probably won't be. You'll think about him wanting these silly photos and then you'll dump him. I'm just hastening the dumping for you."

It wasn't just the dumping of her putative boyfriend I was hastening. My fingers were still busy playing with her naughty parts and she wasn't going to any great lengths to stop me. Before she could bring up any more irrelevant protests I started moving things along, gently pushing on her shoulder so she rolled onto her back.

I stood up and dropped my trousers. Her eyes went a little wider and she didn't seem to be sure where she should look. She finished up focused on my face but she certainly inspected the goods enough to be able to describe them in great detail.

"You're going to do it, aren't you," she accused. "I don't believe this."

"I am going to do it with great enthusiasm," I told her. "I've been wanting to do it from the second you came through the door. If you decide you don't want to take part then I suggest you say no very loudly and very quickly and get out of here."

"But I can't leave. I'm naked."

"I'll assume that you scrambling into your clothes is an indication that you might be a little reluctant."

"But my photos. I paid a deposit and I want my photos."

"We can always do the photos afterwards," I pointed out, sitting on the divan.

I pushed her legs further apart, moving so as to kneel between them. She was once again inspecting the equipment. For someone who had implied she didn't want it she was certainly making no great effort to get off the divan, into her clothes, and out of there. Actually, she was making no effort at all.

I leaned over her, my erection now brushing against her mound. A slight movement on my part was all that was required to have it brushing back and forth across her mound. A little more pressure and it was pressing against her as it moved. Her reaction, zero, apart from her breathing getting heavier.

Reaching down I eased her lips apart, my erection pressing neatly in the space provided. A little bit more pressure and I was moving into her. A little more push on my part and now there was an answering push from Miranda. I sheathed myself very nicely into her warm and willing flesh, helped in no small part by her determined push to meet me.

Look at this from my point of view. She'd waltzed into the studio to have nude photos taken. Not finding the photographer she'd hired she calmly accepted someone else. Disdaining the use of a chaperon she'd stripped of and posed, apparently willing to show everything she had. When I'd touched her breasts her protests had been perfunctory to say the least. When I'd started some serious petting her reaction had been more one of curious interest as to why I was doing it rather than a protest. Her resistance to my starting to fuck her was non-existent.

Given the above you can see why I was assuming that she was willing. I should add that she didn't seem to be looking for a grand romance and a lot of loving attention, either. What she wanted was to be fucked, now, and no finesse was required. I was quite willing to do my part. I couldn't help wondering what was wrong with her boyfriend that she wasn't around at his place right then, screwing him ragged.

I pulled back and drove back in again hard and fast. At the same time my hands closed over her breasts, roughly handling them. Not rough enough to cause any bruising (the camera shows bruises so easily) but rough enough to let her know I wasn't being gentle about what I was doing. She gasped with that first hard thrust but she also pushed firmly up to meet me.

That was just the start. No gently bringing her along while we found a matching rhythm. I was all rush, rush, rush, banging away with all I had right from the word go. Miranda, after the first shock had settled, was right there with me, matching everything I did, and very vocal with it.

I thrust and she bounced under me, shrieking and carrying on, her legs firmly wrapped around me to ensure I didn't get away, hands dug into my shoulders to help her hang on. I just kept going, driving in hard, enjoying her willing submission.

The only difference between my first thrust and that final stroke that blew us both over the edge was the sound effects. She started off noisily and as we progressed the noise increased, with various alterations to the noise, the only continuity being the increase in volume and the higher pitch. She squealed, gasped, groaned, swore, pleaded, and screamed. She was, fortunately, able to keep the volume down to where I don't think it was heard outside the studio. The fact that the police weren't knocking on the door and barging in seemed to indicate that we did retain some privacy.

Still, wanting to be sure, when I realised she was going to climax with a scream I covered her mouth with my hand. Fool move on my part. She climaxed and instead of screaming she bit me, resulting in me doing the screaming.

Afterwards she trotted off to the bathroom and cleaned herself up. I trotted off to the first aid kit and treated my wound. (A human bite can be very nasty, you know.) When she came out of the bathroom she was back on the couch, waiting for instructions for her photoshoot.

Her change of attitude was immediately noticeable, with the camera now loving her. She positively glowed in the photos. When I thought I'd taken enough I had her look them over. She was both ecstatic and unhappy.

"They're marvellous," she said, "but. . . ."

'But' was right. One look at those photos and you could tell what she'd just been doing. She positively shone with sexual satisfaction.

"But?" I asked.

"I don't know," she said. "There's just something about them."

"That's your emotions showing through," I explained. "Just pick a few, give them to your boyfriend, and tell him you were thinking of him while they were being taken."

"Oh. What do you think he'll say about them?"

"Nothing, initially. If you're somewhere private when you give them to him, which I assume you will be, he'll be too busy ripping off your clothes and fucking you until you resemble the photos."

Ashson
Ashson
8,440 Followers
12