Carly, Chapter 4

by Jackie

By the time the girls cleaned up and left (each three hundred dollars richer) it was mid afternoon. I didn't feel like I'd cheated them despite the amount that I would eventually make off the photos. I viewed the with-held money as sort of an insurance premium. Not insurance for them of course; if the photos were ever linked back to me I'd be the one incarcerated and that wouldn't be the worst of it. The long term castigation would make it very hard, if not impossible to pursue my life long passion. 'What then? Better to not think about it;' CAUTION!

While I got myself reasonably presentable the anguish I felt over the untimely arrival of the Logans gnawed at me, yet I couldn't make myself regret it. Heather and Caitlin already knew what I was about. There should have been no shock factor in the scene they'd happened in on. 'I still wish I'd locked the door—that was sloppy! What if it had been some woman looking for a wedding photographer... ' that thought sent a chill through me.

My love for the two delicious redheads made my heart ache. There was some mitigation in the fact that they'd stopped by in the first place. After all, Heather hadn't returned my calls and that was a cause for concern, but then she'd come to the studio. That was better than a phone call, wasn't it? My emotional state didn't lend itself very well to working. I half filled my mug from the square bottle and drank it down in two or three gulps. 'Captain Jack will get ya by tonight ... a little push and you'll be smilin'.' It was a lovely afternoon so I decided that a walk, with maybe a stop at one of the local cafes. That would help clear my head.

This area of the city could have been an eyesore. In fact, not many years before it had been. The once run down factories and warehouses had been renovated to house upscale shops, boutiques and restaurants. Upper floors were often refitted as artists' studios, like mine. During the week it was pretty quiet except right at lunchtime when the nearby office workers descended on the eateries. Weekends were a different story.

As I strolled between the red brick structures on the ancient and unpopulated cobble stones, I thought of the hustle and bustle that would have filled them a century ago. Even after I was born, the area was still commercially viable. I was enjoying looking at the finery displayed in the large windows the renovators had thoughtfully installed in the ground floor units when I rounded a corner and saw the coffee shop with the lovely patio almost deserted. Not for the first time I made my way inside the structure with its warped wooden floors and charming hewn beams toward the delicious coffee aromas.

I knew the girl behind the counter and she thought she knew me. She was undeniably pretty and young by most standards; not young enough to be of interest to me as a model though. I turned with my double espresso. Finding a place to sit on the nearly empty patio consisted of choosing sun or shade. Even that wasn't a solid method of selection since the tables that got sun were equipped with umbrellas—decisions, decisions.

I saw her sitting in the corner of the fenced in area, long blonde hair catching stray rays of sunlight although she was predominantly in the shade. From twenty feet or so it was impossible to judge her age but my predatory instincts resolved the table selection dilemma.

I took a seat where I could observe her without being too conspicuous about it. A line from an old Chuck Berry song came into my mind 'too damn hot to be a minute over seventeen' ; that man could write a lyric; music, not so much. I mean it was great rock and roll, just a bit shy on imagination after a while. Truth be told, as I sipped the strong brown liquid, I was pretty sure she wasn't ready for Neil Sedaka's 'Happy Birthday Sweet Sixteen' yet.

The crummy plate in front of her and the soda cup that now contained only ice told me that I might have to move fairly fast if I was going to do more than window shop.

I know there are a lot more men in my business than women and I really don't know how they make their connections. If I'd had any inkling that this might turn into a hunting mission I would have put on a wig (I have a couple) and different clothes. Even with my extremely short hair and masculine sort of clothes, I still had the enormous advantage of being a woman. I could be blunt and to the point without scaring the teenager out of her wits.

"Have you done any modeling," I asked in a fairly loud conversational tone.

She looked up at me for what I thought was the first time and I was immediately stunned. Her face was even prettier than I'd thought; which was saying something, but her eyes ... her eyes were the bluest I'd ever seen. That first eye contact was critical. My smile wasn't forced; it was practiced. Her expression was predictably surprised; maybe guarded would be a better description.

With the turning of her head, she straightened up a little, giving me a better view of the portion of my prey visible above the table. From her face I thought I might have been on the high side thinking Sedaka was even warming up but the bust outlined in the fairly loose fitting halter top chased me back toward the Berry classic.

"No," she said, and I felt it in my pussy.

I didn't know one word could sound so sweet and musical. The front of her shoulder length hair was twisted into sort of loose ringlets that hung down framing her flawless make up free face. The slightly wind blown look bespoke of a fairly accomplished stylist. 'She's no street urchin' I surmised; 'why isn't she in school?' "Have you ever given it any thought? I can't be the first one to tell you that you're beautiful."

Once again, being a woman I could get away with going right for the jugular. The same compliment from a man would most likely result in nothing but suspicion. Coming from me, even as butch as I looked, the teen didn't see it as a threat. She half smiled and I thought I detected just the slightest hint of a blush. How adorable is that?

It was time to close in, not for the kill—not yet; just to test the victim's skittishness. I stood up and pulled a business card from the protective little pouch in my pocket, and placed it on the table in front of her. I was happy when she didn't pull away and she showed no signs of fear at my proximity.

"If you ever feel like giving it a try, my studio's just around the corner," I made a vague motion in the general direction. Critical moment! She was looking at the card which was a good sign. If she was completely uninterested or more spooked than she looked she would have been beating a retreat by now. She looked back up at me with those incredible eyes that paled the clearest sky possible. The interest was unmistakable. 'No guts, no glory.' "I'm going back there right now, if you want to come along."

My practiced, casual smile was still in place. It's a good thing my heart rate wasn't on display. The moment of indecision was amazingly brief.

"Sure," she said and started to rise.

My brain had to deal with the sensation of my heart leaping out of my chest and my pussy going into spasm simultaneously. At the same time I needed to keep the confident smile on my face. Some things are only accomplished with practice, practice, practice.

She had a backpack on the side of her chair away from me (you never see a teenager without one these days). When she stood and reached down to pick it up I almost moaned. The sculpted but still immature legs and the round pubescent bum revealed for that brief moment was like having a bucket of very warm water dumped over me. For just an instant I was trying to figure out a way to make her go ahead—in the lead. That made no sense since she obviously didn't know where she was going. I started to lead her out of the fenced-in patio consoling myself that I'd have lots more opportunities to check out her ass before the day was through.

"By the way my name's Carly," I said as the doll pulled along side of me.

If she'd read the card I didn't really need to provide that information verbally, but I hoped that it would engender a need for reciprocation.

"My name's Cherlyn ... but everyone calls me Cherry." 'Oh-my-God-no!' the name was too much!

---

Like a good host, I let my guest precede me up to my second floor studio. On the first floor were a travel agency and a small jewelry boutique. Both were satellites of downtown operations and were only manned Thursday and Friday evenings, and on weekends. Today they were dark and closed.

I thoroughly enjoyed the view as we ascended the remanufactured staircase. Her shorts were the cut off kind and as luck would have it, she'd cut a bit too much. Catching a glimpse of buttock I was left to wonder if she was wearing a thong, or... 'Oh God ... don't go there ... not yet' I warned myself.

I had the commonsense to lock the door when I'd left. Ten grand worth of photographic equipment, not to mention the computer, was reason to secure the premises. Being eaten out by teenagers evidently was not. Once we were inside I was in my realm. My victim's reaction was typical. She perused all the mini sets with their unlit floods and umbrella reflectors before scanning the closer environs of my little open office set up with the desk and computer and finally over to the sitting area where the couch and bookshelf were the dominant features.

"What kind of pictures do you take?" she asked still scanning the studio.

"I take all kinds of photos honey. I take some for magazines, for catalogues, for advertisements ... like the one I'm doing now. It's for a weekend sales flyer that goes in with the newspaper." It wasn't a lie. I had done a sales flyer for a local department store about three weeks ago. They'd provided the models and sent over several racks of clothes. It was a kids wear promotion and some of the models (most of them) were a little to young to be useful in the more lucrative side of the business; at least for my comfort. There were a few I'd have liked to recruit but they all came with parents and to make matters worse, they were somewhat familiar with the business of modeling.

Too many chaperones, too risky; I decided to just do the work I was contracted to do, take the money and run. The thing was the store never got around to picking up the racks of clothes they'd sent over. There was a lack of communication between the people in purchasing and shipping. First it seemed like they'd sent practically one or two of everything from the juniors department when they had only asked for photos of a few specific items. At the end of the next week when they hadn't picked their merchandise up, I called them and they assured me that the clothes would get picked up the next day. A week after that I called, they apologized and made a similar promise which also wasn't kept. The stuff wasn't in my way or bothering me, but at the same time I had no use for it ... until now. It was actually on my 'To Do' list to call them once more.

"I have the clothes for the sale ... if you want to try some of them on, I could snap a few pictures ... I don't know which shots their advertising people will pick but you might wind up in the newspaper supplement ... would you like that?" Cherry smiled broadly. I got the sense that she was shy but she wasn't deaf and blind. She could see with her own eyes how gorgeous she was. And even if she tried to deny it to herself, I was pretty sure she got a steady stream of compliments, verbal and otherwise, from all quarters. It left her with something of a dilemma. She was proud of her looks but too modest to blatantly show it off. It made her fairly easy prey.

She never actually said 'yes', but when I said let me check the list and see what shots they want she didn't say 'no' either. I picked up a piece of paper from the desk that actually had a list of stationary items I need to pick up at the store on it. I knew what was on the racks because I'd had to go through everything to find the outfits I was being paid to photograph. I knew there were all kinds of other stuff there.

"OK let's see what we can find for you to try on."

I led her toward the back of the studio. I chose a cute little cotton print yellow sundress.

"How about this one first?" I suggested, handing it to her still on the hanger.

I'm no ladies wear expert and I've got very little experience picking out clothes for anyone but myself, however, it certainly looked to me like the dress might be OK for my prospective model if it weren't for her above average bust. "You can change right over there" I indicated a dressing screen that sat just out from the furthest back corner of the studio. One of the walls of that corner was blank and the other had a very large, old fashioned window that I had covered with a thin sheet. The late afternoon sun shone through it intensely.

This was how I was treated to my first silhouette show in quite a while. Sometimes the hidden or hinted-at can be so much more erotic than full-on blatant exposure. The dressing screen was a simple wooden frame with thick paper stretched over it. The screening material had a sort of tone on tone, off white beige-y kind of oriental pattern on it and was spectacularly translucent. The strongly backlit image was visible in remarkable detail.

Stepping behind the screen, Cherilyn hung the dress on one of the row of hooks along the blank wall adjacent to the window, and pretty much immediately pulled her halter top over her head. I knew that the bamboo and parchment structure was exactly five feet high. I could see just the poofiest top of the blonde curls above the screen, confirming my earlier estimate that my latest model was five feet tall. I had come to that conclusion since she appeared to be just a couple of inches shorter than me. Of course I could clearly see her arms, in the flesh as it were, above the shield when she raised them to remove her top.

Standing in profile, the strong sunlight was projecting her shadow slightly enlarged on the screen. I couldn't be absolutely positive but it appeared that the well formed cones were now bare. Cherry hadn't been wearing a bra.

I had looked at her tits as much as I thought I could get away with since the moment I laid eyes on her. The way they'd projected so proudly forward and the complete lack of any detectable movement when she walked had caused me to surmise that she had one on. I was now forced to re-evaluate. The magnified image would certainly have been clear enough to show some evidence if it were there. Additional evidence of her lack of underwear was the hint of an extra tiny bump on the tip of each cone; erect nipples? My own dark tender nubs tickled at the thought.

Watching for any sign of jiggle as the girl skinned off her shorts made my pussy start to hum. When she snapped the shorts over her second foot and stood up abruptly I did detect a miniscule bounce, which sent a delightful thrill through my womanhood. She had her back to me as she retrieved the sundress from its hanger. It was not possible in silhouette to determine the panty status. The thought that the beautiful teen might be completely naked, less than ten feet away, caused a full body surge of sexual tension.

Back in profile, there was even enough detail in the shadow image to detect the puffiness at the juncture of her thighs. It might forecast the plumpness of her mons, or maybe it was the crotch piece of a thong containing the wispy blonde curls that probably surrounded the virginal crease.

My model to be stepped into the dress and slipped her arms through the holes; with the dress more or less in place she ached her back to pull the back zipper up. First from below reaching up her back and then by reversing her arm positions and reaching down her back she was finally able to secure it. There was no mirror in the makeshift dressing room so the teenager was trying to adjust the bodice of the dress blind. I couldn't see her hands moving because the shadow of her torso cancelled them out, but it was evident from her elbows sticking almost straight out, that that's what she was doing.

"Don't worry about trying to get it perfect honey ... I can help you adjust it when you come out."

"Ugh ... I don't think it fits too good," the musical little voice sounded strained, as if she was trying to stuff ten pounds of dough into a five pound sack.

She was looking down and tugging at the top of the dress when she stepped out from behind the screen, so I don't think she noticed the gasp when my jaw dropped.

I was only partly correct. The top of the dress was suitable for a training bra maybe through an 'A' cup. My new model's boobies wouldn't be contained properly in a 'B' much longer. Insofar as the top went I was right but the rest of the dress was also pretty much a size too small as well. The blonde cutie was so busy trying to get her boobs into the too small cups that she apparently didn't notice that the skirt only covered her tushy by a couple of inches. In the front it couldn't have been more than three inches below her girlhood. If it weren't for the slenderness of her torso, she'd have never been able to zip it up.

"It does look pretty tight," I agreed and as though I had every right to check the fit of the dress I ran my hand over the pert round backside that had thrilled me coming up the stairs. I clenched my teeth 'Oh Jesus' I moaned under my breath feeling those solid little hills through the thin cotton, and, I was pretty sure, nothing else. A couple of smoothing strokes on her ass and I had to step away. The clenching spasms in my pussy were threatening to become sounds coming out of my mouth.

"I don't think they're gonna be happy with this but since you went to the trouble of putting it on I might as well take a couple of shots."

My nerves were jangled but when I had the familiar grip of the Canon in my hand my professionalism kicked in and I steadied.

"OK, stand nice and natural just like you were waiting for a bus, or something." click ... click "Good, now lean forward like you were stooping to read a low sign ... that's it put your hands on your knees ... ya know like to take the strain off your back." Click ... click ... click. Her boobs weren't big enough for gravity to have any real effect, but leaning forward did give the prospective of looking down the front of the dress. Hands on knees wasn't just cute, it pushed the ripening mounds together a little as if they needed to be plumped up anymore. A third of their fleshiness was protruding over the top of the too small bodice and a quarter or more of each boob was escaping through the arm hole. "Now turn around and do the same thing but look at me over your shoulder."

Cherry followed the instruction perfectly. The lower quarter of her pubescent ass was exposed as the hem of the undersized sundress rode up. "Put your feet a little wider apart honey." When she complied I caught sight of the pale blue ribbon exiting from between the smooth hemispheres and attaching to the little triangle that covered her pussy. Her slender thighs framed the thinly covered girlhood; click, click, click.

Normally it would take until at least the second and often the third shoot with a new model to work much on facial expressions. It was by far the hardest thing to get right for all kinds of reasons. On the other hand there were naturals and Cherilyn was one of them. She had that innocent 'Is this OK?' look that I had, on occasion, spent hours trying to explain and coax out of a girl. Her shoulder length wavy golden hair hanging beside her face on one side and laying on the back of her shoulders on the other, framed the sweet chaste expression. I found myself clicking the shutter in time with the throbbing of my womanhood.

"Perfect honey; stay like that just a minute longer."

"OK ... just one more pose for the dress. Can you sit on the floor sort of facing me and lean back on your arms?"

Again my new model struck the pose flawlessly the first time. Her plump little tits were trying to sneak out of the dresses' bra top every which way. The half reclined position pulled the hem of her skirt up until the slightest hint of the pale blue triangle covering her girlhood peeked from underneath the yellow cotton; depending on your angle of view.

I walked around the seated, reposed teenager taking multiple photos at about every thirty degrees of the three hundred and sixty degree trek. She never questioned any of the poses I'd asked for although I'm sure, if she had thought about it, she'd have realized that they were not the positions of models in sales flyers. A photographer's delight, she was speedily and completely compliant. As I set the EOS down I couldn't help marveling at her lack of awareness. It seemed she was totally oblivious to how hot she looked; PERFECT!

Without the tool of my trade to anchor me I noticed my trembling again as I prepared to explore the next level. For show I return to my desk and picked up the stationary supply list.

"Oh I don't know honey ... the only other shots on the list is for underwear ... Would you be ... uh, comfortable doing that?"

She was still sitting on the floor, cross legged now. The skirt, as much as there was of it, fell between her fully exposed legs. It obscured the tantalizing thong covered mons that I had managed to glimpse and photograph. Looking into those astounding crystal blue eyes I could almost see the wheels turning.

"Would I, uh get ... uh, paid?" she asked blushing adorably.

I nearly jumped for joy. As affluent as she looked, too some extent and at some price, she was for sale. The fact was that all teenagers, even the 'well to do' ones had an endless need for more money—girls especially. The question always was; when, at what point, would their natural modesty and conservative upbringing override their greed, or vice versa. Girls like my little African American model, Lisa, were more easily swayed because their financial need was great. They were after enough money to get onto the bottom rung of the ladder, where as the youngsters who had more just wanted to climb a little higher. The teens in that middle group were more likely to draw the line too low for me to get what I needed.

I hadn't paid the models for the advertising flyer but I knew the typical rate for the agency they came from was one hundred to two hundred and hour. The models got seventy percent. Cherilyn was going to make a lot more than that working with me directly. The pictures I was taking appealed to a rather different audience and had nothing to do with selling tween and teen clothes.

"Of course ... of course you will honey," I assured her expecting her to ask 'how much?' amazingly she didn't. She was still hesitating.

"I don't want you to do anything you're not comfortable with," YET I didn't add. "You're an extremely beautiful young woman and I think you could eventually be very successful in this business; if you want to be."

"Do you really think I'm ... uh, beautiful?" she asked with a shocking amount of incredulity. 'Maybe she's not getting the strokes from other people that I think she's getting' I reasoned.

"It's not what I think honey ... I know! I've been in the photography business for a long time and I've seen a lot of models. You are right up there with the best."

I was pleased with the expression of pride that lit up her pretty face.

"There's a lot more to modeling than just being beautiful, but it's sure a great place to start."

She stood up from her cross legged position on the floor with the smooth grace of a dancer.

"I'm willing to give it a try" the girl in the too small yellow sundress announced.

"Well let me see..." I said pensively shuffling through the rack of loaner clothing.

The stuff was still reasonably well organized, with all the underwear hung together in a group. Zeroing in on bra and panty sets I started checking sizes. I chose two that had a thirty-two 'B' bra; the panties were sized appropriately. One was black with tiny white polka dots. The material was relatively thick. The other was sky blue and surprisingly sheer for adolescent undergarments. Wanting to save the best for last, and afraid that if Cherry saw how revealing the blue set was, that I might not get a chance to shoot the black one, I handed the polka dot bra and panties to my stunning young model and said, "Let's start with this."

She took my selection behind the screen and shimmied out of the tight sundress. I wished I had video of the hip movement as she struggled a little to get the ill fitting garment off. I noticed, in the silhouette view, that the motion was vigorous enough to coax some jiggle out of the incredibly firm cones on her chest.

The steady throb between my legs was becoming an ache by the time she returned to my side of the bamboo and parchment divider. I hadn't been exactly right on sizing again—or maybe I had. I suspected that she was near the upper limits of a 'B' cup and my suspicion was confirmed. It wasn't exactly too small but I'd have been surprised if it would fit her three months down the road. The panties hugged her pert ass and plump mons perfectly.

"Wow!" I said not needing to fake the enthusiasm. "You look scrumptious!"

I took in the proud but still somewhat bashful expression waiting to see if she would react to the complimentary term usually reserved for something you eat (Oh God ... please!). She seemed to take it in stride so I continued my justified and very thorough visual examination of her form. She looked fabulous from her cute little feet to her blonde waves. Unfortunately, the bra and panty set were as concealing as most bathing suits.

I put her through a series of poses, similar to the ones I'd directed when she was wearing the dress. Technically she had less on but the dress photos were much more erotic. I omitted the three-sixty of her sitting leaning back on her hands, and shot that position from just a couple of angles. "Now this one" I said handing the girl the blue set that was going to go so perfectly with her spectacular eyes.

Once again viewing the shadow of the clothing being changed was far more arousing than I would have thought. 'I guess 'cause it's kind of like peeping ... she doesn't realize that she's putting on a show.' She had the second set of underwear on for several seconds and hadn't come out around the screen yet. I could clearly see that her head was bent forward, evidently looking down at herself, and not moving. I waited patiently for almost a minute before I said,

"Is there anything wrong sweetheart?"

"You ... you can see through ... uh, right through these," her voice sounded more than a little breathless. It might be time to play the 'we're all girls here card.'

"I'm sure it'll be fine and I can always retouch the pictures so nothing will show," I tried to assuage her fears, but she still didn't emerge. I waited several long seconds and then said, "You're not shy around me, are you?" The pause was deafening.

"Uh ... uh, I don't know ... it's just that sometimes when people look at me ... in a, you know ... in a ... in that way, it makes me feel really ... uh, really ... funny."

A certain amount of the head spinning I was suddenly experiencing was wishful thinking; but some of it was experience. 'Oh wow! I've got a born exhibitionist here.' "Funny how honey?"

"I don't know it's kinda like ... uh like nervous. It's a feeling deep down in my ... in my ... uh tummy." 'That's not your tummy sweet-pea' I thought.

"Do you feel it anywhere else or is it just your tummy?"

"Well I kinda feel it in my head ... uh it makes me sorta ... uh, dizzy ... kinda."

"Anywhere else?"

The question hung in the air as I was feeling an amplified version of the sensations she was describing. Her feelings were the harbingers of arousal; at least that was my analysis. When she finally answered it was no more than a whisper,

"Sometimes I feel it in my boobies."

The confidential way she delivered the statement indicated that she had an inkling as to what those feelings meant. For me it was like a gong had been struck; (You know those big hammered brass discs you see in old movies about China) except the gong in this case was my pussy. The shockwaves, like the sound waves, spread out until they touched every part of my body. There was even tingling in my toes, but there was no doubt that my erogenous zones absorbed most of the vibrations.

"It's nothing to be worried about or ashamed of Cherry."

Just using the pet name gave me a supplementary little thrill.

I heard her groan softly but it was more like active listening than a reply.

"It kinda feels good ... in a way, doesn't it, when people admire your body. I've already told you that you're something really special."

Another soft groan from behind the screen, but I wanted an answer.

"It does feel good doesn't it?"

"Yesss," she eventually hissed and it was even quieter than when she'd made the admission in the first place.

"It's OK sweetheart. It's perfectly normal to feel that way ... uh, for some people more than others, but I'll bet that a very high percentage of models feel it strongly. Remember I said there's a lot more to modeling than good looks ... do ya remember me saying that?"

Not being able to make eye contact I wanted to make sure I had her attention; that she wasn't just off in some world of shame.

"Uh huh," she responded and I thought I detected just the smallest amount of relief creep into her voice.

"Well, the fact that it gives you a ... a thrill when people look at you and admire you tells me that you have one of the other critical elements to becoming a top model. It shows you ... uh, you..." I searched for a word that didn't accuse of narcissism or exhibitionist tendencies, which is what I truly thought. " ... uh, your personality is that you enjoy people looking at you. I mean you really get something out of it. Not everybody does."

I paused, waiting for some signal of acceptance or at least acknowledgement. I didn't get it.

"The reason you're ashamed of your feelings probably comes from your parents, most likely your mother," I said, slipping into Freudian mode. "I bet she's taught you from a very early age that your body is private, or ... or maybe even dirty. That you must never let anyone see you uncovered ... not even a little bit. Am I right?" 'You're twenty-one and still your mother makes your bed ... and that's too long... ' "Ugh," it was nothing more than a grunt from behind the screen but it had an affirmative ring to it, so I pressed on.

"That's why you have this ... this conflict. Your body is telling you one thing but your upbringing is telling you the opposite. I bet nobody in your house is ever seen without all their clothes on, right?"

"Yes, uh, I mean no ... uh..." the badly worded question made a clear answer difficult but I had all the confirmation I needed just the same.

"Well they're wrong honey! There's nothing wrong with the way you feel and you shouldn't be ashamed of it. You have a very nice ... no a gorgeous, a spectacular body, and you should show it off proudly. Never be embarrassed that it makes you feel good when..."

My voice trailed off as my scantily clad model finally accepted what I was saying. Stepping out from behind the screen her head was down and if my own unsteady vision could be trusted, she was trembling. The next few moments were crucial to my success. I had to convince my prey that she was the most ravishing creature in the world and that not sharing her magnificence would be a crime.

"Wow, now that's what I'm talkin' about!"

There was no need to feign appreciation it came instantly and forcefully manifesting itself between my legs before my conscious brain even registered the vision. The view in the too small dress had been erotically pleasing but the semitransparent undies, which were so complimentary to her crystal blue eyes, was in a whole other league.

The color of the pale pink mushroom cap areolas was lost in the blue hue imposed by the sheer fabric of the bra. They were only evident in that they were a deeper shade than the rest of the jutting teenaged boobie they topped. The 'B' cups were packed full but molded nicely because of the stretchiness of this fabric unlike the thicker polka dot top.

Nothing could have stopped my eyes from traveling down the slender torso to the recently developed flair of her hips. The stretchy panties also fit well and covered the plump girlish mons like a second skin. It was not hard to detect the minimal trimming of the pubic hair that converted the natural inverted triangle into a slim rectangle. The strip of hair started about an inch above my prey's crease and unfortunately did an effective job of hiding any details of the pubescent labia that were pushing out against their confinement.

Not wanting to push my luck, or put too much faith in my sales pitch, I grabbed for the SLR and started shooting. 'She could have second thoughts ... panic and run at any moment' I warned myself. It wouldn't be the first time.

"Head up honey, be proud of yourself ... you look fabulous!"

When my reluctant model raised her head, I had a chance to look into those fantastic shocking blue peepers for the first time since her fitting room jitters. I'd seen that look before many times—but never enough times. I knew the feeling well. The first time I'd experienced it in front of Missus Mitchell's vintage SLR. I knew it was like a drug. It was the kind of feeling that resulted in such a rush of hormones and adrenaline that you felt as though you were floating. As surreal and intoxicating as it felt there was no impairment of your consciousness. Like crack cocaine, once you'd felt it, there was no turning back.

What I came to understand later was that it was also contagious in some ways. I had seen one intoxicated model stir some lesser version of the high in a partner and I was acutely aware, as a photographer, that when my subject was feelin' it, I was feelin' it too. Those symbiotic synergistic sessions usually produced amazing results.

"You're so gorgeous Cherry ... put you arms up fluff your hair."

She responded in slow motion.

"Ooo that's it honey, that draws attention to your beautiful blonde hair and pretty face." click, click "Now turn a little to your right ... that's it ... good ... right there, keep playing with your hair," click, click "bend forward and look at the camera ... beautiful..." click, click, click, click "My God you're divine! Turn your back to me ... good..." click, click, click "now bend forward from the waist ... excellent!"

The shadow of the cleft between the firm hemispheres of her ass and the thinly veiled vulva below were making my pussy twitch like mad.

"Feet a little wider apart ... perfect," click, click, click, the Canon's shutter fired, electronically capturing the intensely erotic image. "Straighten up now and turn, slowly ... slowly to face me. Put your hands up on your chest ... higher, up near your collar bone ... that's it, good." click, click "Now run your hands down the front of your body ... slowly ... very slowly ... wonderful!"

The moan was so soft when her hands passed over her breasts that it was barely audible.

"Keep going ... keep going, that's it ... all the way down to your waist ... umm-hmm sexy ... now start again ... at the top."

Cherry's hands returned to her upper chest and she started the downward caress. I glanced at her face through the lens. Those amazing blue eyes were on the camera but not quite focused. Her jaw was slack and it wasn't hard to see how much her chest was heaving as she sucked in the copious amounts of air her brain was demanding.

When her hands were over the translucent blue cups I said, "Squeeze them honey, squeeze your breasts."

The moan was much louder this time. Her manicured little fingers dug into the soft sponginess of her teenaged orbs, released and repeated.

"Oh yeah ... great, great do it some more! Doesn't that feel good?"

I kept her full body in the frame. I could always crop what I wanted later. As a matter of fact, any one of the shutter releases might turn into three or four differently framed salable images. Her head was tipped back, just slightly. The still shots wouldn't capture the rapid expansion and contraction of her ribcage but the video would.

"OK sweetie now slip the straps off your shoulders." Her hands released her tender adolescent tits and she hooked her thumbs under the shoulder straps of the bra. In a moment the straps were hanging loosely on her upper arms. "Slowly sweetheart ... very slowly pull them down."

For this maneuver she had to cross her arms, gripping the left shoulder strap with her right hand and visa versa. My attention was on the semi-transparent cups when they began to fold over. I was firing the EOS shutter almost continuously; partly because each one of the erotic images I was capturing would be slightly different and I wanted lots to choose from, and partly because my trigger finger was responding to the rapid throb in my clit which was pulsating in time with my thumping heart. That's why I didn't notice right away when the motion stopped. When I did realize her hands were no longer moving, I diverted my attention to Cherry's face; her head was no longer back. She was looking at the camera and her expression had changed. She looked ... scared.

'Uh-oh' I thought.