I want to be a Model

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Friend wants a portfolio for a model.
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Ashson
Ashson
8,455 Followers

I was at home, minding my own business, when my sister, Marie, and her friend, Barbara, bailed me up.

Marie? She's my sister. I don't greatly care what she looks like. OK, I guess. I'm told she has a great personality and loads of charm. I had to be told because she sure never wastes her personality and charm using it on me.

Barbara? Now she's a horse of a different colour, as they say. She's the same age as Marie which I guess puts her in the eighteen – nineteen bracket. When she was younger she was a cute pest. Now I find her to be an acute pest. She had a growth spurt over the last couple of years and developed all the curves and bumps that a young lady would want. She also seemed to grow into her face and teeth, and her hair took on a sheen it didn't have when she was younger.

All in all, Barbara was now quite lovely with an excellent figure. She wasn't overblown like some girls. Rather than the massive udders that some people seem to think is what a young woman should have she had a quite respectable chest, her breasts high and nicely shaped and proportioned. She exercised, which kept her fit, and she had her share of smarts.

A few years back when she had a flat chest, acne, scraggly hair, big buck teeth and a head too small for her face, she had been suitably quiet and modest. As her face and figure improved so did her smugness and vanity. Now she pranced around, swishing her bottom (and a very nice bottom it is), and generally behaving like a princess, expecting everyone to serve her hand and foot. The boys she met generally met her expectations in this regard.

When the two girls bailed me up Barbara was all modest smiles, standing in such a fashion that I got a good look at her figure, not so demurely clad in shorts and shirt that might have been just a tiny bit tighter than they should have. Marie totally shocked me by turning her charming personality on me.

"Um, Frank," she said, ever so sweetly, "Barbara has finally decided on her career."

"Mm," I grunted helpfully.

"She's going to become a model."

Actually, I could quite see Barbara as a model. She had the face and figure and wouldn't disgrace the catwalk and would probably look terrific on television.

"Ah, you don't think that maybe her bust is just a little small for those sort of magazines and things?" I suggested.

"Not that sort of model," snapped Marie. "For god's sake, get your mind out of the gutter. She's talking about being a professional model, modelling clothes, not doing porn."

"Sorry. My mistake. Ah, why are you telling me this?"

"You're a good photographer. We want you to take some photos of her so she can start putting a portfolio together."

"I feel that may not be a good idea. Why not go to a professional? They'll know what to do. She can have you as a chaperon."

"Have you any idea what those people cost? Why can't you do it? And why would she need a chaperon?"

Yes, I knew what those people cost. I tended to charge the same sort of fee when I got the occasional professional gig.

"Well, I can do it if you really want to," I said agreeably, turning to face Barbara more squarely. "Take off your clothes so I can see what I have to work with."

Geez, you'd think I'd asked her to strip in the middle of a crowded street. Both girls went up like rockets. How dare I? What did I think she was? Who did I think I was? Etcetera, etcetera.

"The taking off of her clothes is why she might like to have a chaperon," I calmly pointed out. "If she wants a proper portfolio then she's going to have to include a few tasteful nudes. Don't take my word for it. Ring up one of those expensive places and ask them."

Barbara was shaking her head, muttering, "I couldn't. I just couldn't."

I agreed with her, much to Marie's disgust.

"That's what I thought," I told them. "Barbara's just a little too naïve for that sort of thing. I'll bet you're still a virgin, even though you have a trail of puppies following you around."

The angry blush on Barbara told me I was correct. I gave her a nasty smile.

"Just how long do you think you'll be able to keep your legs together when you start trying to be a model?" I asked her. "If you take a chaperon to the photographer's studio for your portfolio shoot you should finish the shoot unfucked, but what will you do when someone who wants to hire you says you'll be perfect for the job if you fuck him? Even if you get hired without putting out, I can see some photographer jumping you as soon as he realises he's got a naked virgin in front of him. Hell, even your own agent will want to relieve you of that arduous burden and if you say no he mysteriously can't find you any work."

Both girls were giving me angry looks.

"Hadn't thought of things like that, had you? Why don't you go away and consider all the negatives to being a model instead of just the positives. Then you can weigh up the pros and cons and make a more informed decision. You might like to talk to a couple of models and agents to get their take."

With that I chased them out and they stalked off in a huff. Two huffs, actually, as they both had one.

That, I decided, was the end of that. Just shows how little I know about women.

Barbara turned up a few days later while I was home alone. I answered the door and politely informed her that Marie was out and I didn't know when she'd be getting back. That was fine by Barbara – she'd come to see me.

I invited her in. I'd have been a fool not to. She was made up to kill and was wearing clothes designed to lead a lamb to the slaughter, with a tight top that emphasized her charms and a very tight red mini that I'm surprised didn't get her arrested for indecent something. That mini wasn't a case of don't-bend-down but more a case of walk with tiny steps or you'll cause an accident.

I'll admit it crossed my mind that she may have wanted something from me.

She wasn't backwards about letting me know it.

"I've been thinking about what you said about becoming a model and I've decided that I'm going to do it anyway. I think I've got a good chance of becoming one. I may not be the next super-model but, there again, I just might be. I'll never find out if I don't give it a go."

I guess that was fair enough. If she really wanted to why shouldn't she give it a shot?

"I suppose that the reason you're telling me this is because you want me to help set up your portfolio?"

She nodded.

"As a freebie, of course, as I'm not really a professional."

She nodded again but did manage to look a little guilty.

"OK. If you really want to. I'm sure Marie will be happy to act as a chaperon. Talk to her and have her set up a time."

"Um, I don't have to have any nude pictures immediately, do I?"

"Not really. You'll probably require some at some stage to round out your portfolio but I'm not going to insist you do them right now."

"Then," she said carefully, "if I'm not doing any nude pictures I won't need Marie for a chaperone."

"Ah, no," I agreed, also speaking carefully, not knowing where she was going with this.

"Then there's no reason why you can't take some photos right now, is there?"

"No reason at all as far as I'm concerned," I said, "but you won't really want your photos to just be you in that outfit. You'll want a number of different outfits, including a bikini. Oh, and some dainty lingerie for those forbidden glimpses that will show in some of the photos."

"That's what I thought," she said, smiling happily, "so I packed a few things in a case. It's in my car. Just a moment and I'll go and get it."

Check and Mate. It seemed I was about to do a photo session. Fortunately I had all the equipment I'd require on hand, including a blue background I could put up. The parents let me use the spare room as a makeshift studio so I had a place to do the shoot. I wondered if it had even occurred to Barbara that I'd need some sort of studio.

Barbara came back in, a suitcase trundling along behind her. I didn't know how many clothes she'd brought but that suitcase was large enough to pack all the clothes I own. I took the suitcase, swung it onto the bed in the 'studio' and opened it. There was one very nice dress there that I thought would suit her and I lifted it out.

"We'll start with this," I told her. "Your makeup looks good so we'll leave that alone for now. Just make sure you don't smudge it when you get changed."

And the second-guessing promptly started. I'd just know it would.

"Why can't we start with the things I'm wearing now?" she demanded. "I think I look good in this outfit."

"Indeed you do," I agreed, "and if I wanted a tartish look I'd let you wear them. However, to start with I want to make you look like a demure but sophisticated young lady, with a touch of innocence. We can try other looks afterwards. Now get changed."

"This outfit is not tartish," Barbara snapped.

"I didn't say it was, but the camera will make you look like a tart wearing that. You have to see things through the eye of the lens. Remember, clothes are not what we're modelling. You are. You're the item we're putting on display for people to buy. Or at least to give you a nice fat contract, and that outfit won't do it. Now get changed."

"Where do I get changed?"

"Anywhere you like. Right here if you want. It won't worry me. It's not as though you'll be stripping completely. At least not until it's time to put on a bikini or different lingerie."

"I'm not getting changed in front of you!"

"So go and use one of the bedrooms. Marie's bedroom is just across the hall. She probably won't mind."

Actually, she probably would, but it wouldn't be me she was mad at so who cared? No. Scratch that. She probably would be mad at me, but it was still a case of who cared?

"Alternatively the bathroom is next to Marie's room and there's a large mirror there."

Barbara grabbed the dress and flounced out. I waited and was surprised she returned as quickly as she did. I had her turn around so I could see her properly and finally nodded.

"Yeah, that will do for a start. Undo the top button, though. We're trying for demure, not repressed. And smile, for god's sake. If someone is choosing between a smiling model and one who looks as if the cameraman is something she scraped off her shoe, guess which one they'll pick."

Finally I had her standing in front of the blue screen and started shooting. She didn't seem too impressed with the instructions I was giving her.

"That's it, keep smiling. Turn to the left. Turn to the right. Hands behind your back and lean forward. Smile, blast it. Drop the smile and look thoughtful. Thoughtful, not constipated. Contemplate your boyfriend rather than your bowel movement. Crouch down, looking up at me and smiling as though you like me."

The nice thing about digital cameras is that you can shoot endlessly. What a pain to have to change film every few dozen shots and then never know what you had until it was developed.

Finally I had enough of demure but sophisticated.

"Grab some shorts and a button up blouse and get changed again. We'll go with the tomboy look for a while. By shorts I don't mean those ones that you paint on. Some where you can bend over without raising men's blood pressure too high."

The first few shots of the tomboy look went OK and then I told her to undo another button as I wanted a touch of cleavage and a bit of bra. Barbara had no objection and started teasing the camera. Right up until I focused a little closer and saw what she was wearing.

"What the fuck are you doing wearing a granny bra?" I demanded. "I said cleavage and that tends to mean your breasts are shown to a certain extent." I was indicating what I meant by drawing the cleavage I expected on my own chest. "Cleavage does not mean a view of a bra that your Granny probably rejected as too confining and rigid. I'll swear that wasn't the bra you had on earlier or the camera would have told me something was wrong."

It turned out that she'd brought the monstrosity along to hide behind so she wouldn't show too much boob. I pointed out that there is no such thing as showing too much boob but I wasn't shooting pornography and was quite capable of determining how much breast she could safely show.

"Now go and put on a proper bra. A half cup will do, as long as it covers your nipples."

While she was changing this time I nipped down to my room and fetched one of my own t-shirts and a more formal button-up shirt.

This time when the shooting started she began to get more into the spirit of things. A bit too much spirit, maybe. Still, I could delete the unwanted shots. An extra button managed to come undone and when she leant forward I well and truly got some cleavage shots. I also gained an understanding that maybe she had a bit more up top that I'd previously thought.

"OK," I said, throwing my t-shirt to her. "Get rid of your shirt and wear this instead."

She looked at it, shrugged, turned her back to me, took off her shirt and put on mine. She looked godawful cute in that shirt.

"Not working," I told her. "Take the shorts off. The t-shirt will cover you sufficiently and the shorts look silly."

She only hesitated for a moment before sliding the shorts off and we went on with the shooting.

At the next change she just whipped off the t-shirt and put on the new dress, keeping one eye on me to see if I was watching her. I was, but not obviously, and that seemed to irritate her slightly. There she was, clad only in her undies, and I wasn't looking. How insulting.

That marked a turning point in the session. From then on she didn't bother leaving the room to get changed. When I infuriatingly failed to watch her change she even stopped turning around, just whipping off one outfit and putting on the next while I fiddled with my camera – and got a few impromptu shots of Barbara in her undies.

I was curious to see what would happen when it was time to try the bikini shots. Barbara was actively flirting with the camera now and it seemed to me that she was becoming quite aroused by everything that was going on. She'd completely lost her initial self-consciousness and was mugging for the camera as though she was already a professional.

When I told her to put on her bikini she hesitated for a moment, her eyes flicking towards the door. I more than half expected her to take the bikini and change in the bathroom but her ego wouldn't let her. She did turn her back to me as she started undoing her bra.

I assumed that she'd take off her bra and put on the bikini top and then do similarly with the bikini bottom. She took off her top, hesitated, and then slid her panties down, bending down to take them right off.

Do women realise just how much they show off when they bend over while naked. Barbara's legs were parted sufficiently to allow me (and the camera) to see everything. Because she was on a very slight angle I could also see the way her breasts dangled, and a pretty impressive sight it was.

She stood there for a moment, completely naked, while she put her bra and panties on a chair she'd been using as a table, and you can't tell me that she wasn't well aware of both her nudity and the fact that I was behind her. She probably suspected that I was looking even if I tried to pretend that I wasn't, but she didn't turn her head to check. Instead she started putting on her bikini. Top first, and then the bottom, which again involved her bending over and flashing her private parts at me, all with the most complete innocence, I'm sure.

We took the bikini shots and you can tell me that she wasn't fully turned on by what she was doing but I don't have to believe you. She was flirting outrageously, with the camera of course. I'm sure it was a total coincidence when her top came undone and one side fell, exposing a very nice breast, completed with erect nipple, hastily covered with much confusion.

I sighed.

"OK, Barbara, just take off the bikini now."

"What are you talking about? I said I wasn't doing any nude photos. If I was going to I would certainly want a chaperon. No telling what you might try."

"I'm not talking about taking nude photos. I'm talking about you taking of your bikini so you're naked. Then I'm going to drag you over to that bed and prove to myself that you are not a virgin. Now will you please let the bikini drop?"

"You're going to do no such thing," she said, almost yelping the word. "And I am a virgin and you know it."

"Actually, I don't know it, but when I've finished checking I can guarantee you won't be. Ah, the bikini?"

"Do you seriously think I'm going to get undressed and let you molest me?"

"Yes."

She was in a difficult spot. She was hot and horny and she wanted to know what it was all about. She was also a reluctant virgin. In two ways. Reluctant to be a virgin and reluctant to losing her virginity. A helping hand was obviously required. I strolled over to her.

I took hold of her bikini pants and started pulling them down.

"You stop that," she protested. "You can't do that. Stop it at once."

All protest and no action, doing nothing to stop the bottoms from descending and stepping out of them when they reached her feet.

"You had no right to do that," she insisted, her hands modestly covering her groin, when they should have been protecting her top. I just reached around and pulled the bows and the straps came undone, the bra practically falling off of its own accord when she took a deep breath.

"See how easy it is," I said. "You didn't really need my help. Now come along."

One hand on her back I half pushed her towards the bed. I say half pushed as it only required a tiny bit of pressure to get her moving.

"I am not going to let you make love to me," she insisted. "I mean it."

"That's OK," I said agreeably. "Your choice."

We'd reached the bed by this stage and I eased her down onto it. More a case of I turned her so she was facing away from the bed and moved a little closer to her. She tried to step back, found the bed bumping against her legs, and sat down. I turned to sit next to her and at the same time pressed lightly against her shoulders so that she finished up lying down. I only had to lift her legs and turn her slightly.

"What are you doing?" she demanded.

"Just getting a feel for you," I said, stroking her breasts. Very nice to stroke, they were. I guess I should have said just feeling you up but the way I phrased it just sounded better.

I should point out that she wasn't trying to avoid my wandering hands. Except for a few vague and meaningless protests she seemed to be carefully considering each touch. When my hand rubbed lightly over her mons her legs just seemed to drift apart by themselves. Barbara wasn't obviously spreading them but they were certainly providing me with room to play.

I touched and I tasted. I kissed her breasts and sucked lightly on her nipples while she squirmed and clutched at me, telling me I shouldn't be doing this. My fingers slipped between her lips and caressed her intimately. When I brushed to close to her clitoris she gave a small scream and told me I certainly should be doing that.

"What? Doing this?" I asked, touching her again.

"Yes, doing that," she half screamed.

"Yes to doing this. OK."

That time I got a loud wail. I'm fairly sure she almost climaxed.

I stood up and dropped my trousers. Barbara was looking at me and shaking her head.

"You are not putting that thing in me," she told me, actually managing to sound sincere.

I pushed her legs a little further apart. Not that I needed to. I was just demonstrating who was in charge. That done I eased her lips apart and brought her hand down to where mine was.

"Just hold your lips like this for a moment," I told her.

"I won't. You're not doing it."

"Yes, yes. So you keep saying."

Ashson
Ashson
8,455 Followers
12