X, My pussy gets wet just typing that little erotic letter. I mean just glimpsing it down there on my keyboard, my nipples get hard. But then my skin is so sensitive these days that any old letter is likely to set me off on increasingly vivid fantasies. “QWERTY” is like dirty talk to me. I called your artist/photographer friend. He was already an acquaintance of mine, actually, and I’d indirectly worked with him a couple of years ago to promote another of his projects, so it wasn’t that unusual for me to call and say I’d be willing to help out on this project in any way – say, for example, stripping off all my clothes for his camera in the name of art. I should have been some painter’s muse, X, as you’ve mentioned before. I was made for artistic devotion! Nude is how I like to be. Your artist friend is a handsome man, which of course you knew. Maybe not handsome in the conventional sense, but he’s got this animal intensity that I find exciting. Too pretty faces just leave me cold. But he left me hot, and that made me much more nervous than I had expected to be. He was most definitely in control of the situation – very professional, incredibly sure of himself – and from the moment he started giving directions, I found that I could do nothing but numbly follow his orders. I was trembling, but somehow it seemed the only way I would ever stop trembling was to keep following him till the end. I was terribly excited beforehand. In the past I’d taken an occasional naked photo of myself, but I had never done anything like this. [The photographer’s] office had been set up for the shoot. You probably know the place, but the main large room to the right had been emptied of all furniture except a single wooden chair. There was a thick carpet on the floor, a few lights, a camera on a tripod and a large plate of glass the size of a double door that had been propped up straight on a stand. He was friendly enough at first, but as I’ve said, very professional. He talked only about the project – nothing personal – which is a study of the body through different types of screens. Some “screens” he would have me pose behind and others he would create with light during the developing process using a technique he had been experimenting with. He asked me what I thought the best feature of my body was, and I said my back, which is long and strong. He just nodded at this. Then he told me that I could take off my clothes in the bathroom. There was a towel in there if I wanted to wrap it around me. In the bathroom I felt dizzy and had to sit down on the toilet seat for a moment. I’m so used to being the most daring one in the room, the one who makes the outrageous sexual remark and laughs, but even if I’d recently exposed myself in that lingerie shop, now the thought of taking off my clothes had my hands trembling. I felt like a virgin. I definitely wasn’t myself. After a moment I took off all of my clothes and wrapped the towel around me. I felt like a little girl, lost and alone. I hoped that the photographer would tell me exactly what to do so that I could just do it. I hoped I could just give myself over entirely. It was as if he was already taking photographs of me in his mind as I walked out into the big room, where he had turned on a few floodlights and was adjusting his camera on the tripod, his hands turning knobs but his eyes fully locked on me. I stood there feeling foolish until he gruffly said: “You can take the towel off when you’re ready and move into the light.” “They’re hot!” I marveled, trying to make conversation. “It’s like a tanning salon in here.” “First I’m going to ask you to drape this over your body,” he went on, pulling a large piece of black silk from the chair and handing it to me. It was as if I hadn’t even made a peep. I was just a body for the silk to be draped over. I guess I should have felt relieved, or calmed, but it just made me even more shaky. But really there was only one thing to do. I dropped the towel and took the silk. His eyes were all over my nakedness, burning into my skin with his hard eyes. Somehow I was actually less nervous with my clothes off, but I didn’t feel erotic at all. I just wanted him to tell me exactly what to do, and I wanted to follow his directions to the letter (excepting the letter X, naturally!). The shoot took about an hour in all. For a while he had me draped head to toe in silk. I enjoyed that. I felt a bit hidden and secretive, and the silk felt good on my skin. It was thin enough that you could see my body clearly through it, and soon my nipples were hard against the silk. I was relaxing a bit. All the while he was shooting, he kept talking about his project – veils, the bodies of women – and sometimes when I moved a certain way he would get really excited and tell me to hold the pose, which I did, feeling my muscles strain but wanting to be perfect for him. After we were finished with the silk, he waved me over to the camera so that I could look at a couple of photos he liked. I have to admit they looked stunning. And I have to admit that although I felt extremely vulnerable standing next to him so exposed, my vulnerability was beginning to make me a bit excited. The trembling wasn’t just uneasiness anymore. Maybe it was…anticipation? Then we did a series of photos with me on the other side of the glass from the camera. To put me in the position he wanted, he came around and put his hand on my elbows, one by one, to press my forearms to the glass in the right position. Was this part of some dirty plan? With my arms against the glass, my back was arched so that my ass stuck (awkwardly) out into the air. It was the kind of position you put a woman in if you’re going to fuck her from behind. But he quickly (too quickly?) put a few fingers to the small of my back and edged my body forward until it was just touching the glass. “Spread your legs a bit so that the glass touches the length of your thighs,” he said, and I followed orders. This also meant that my pussy pressed gently against the glass, and the sensation of that made me slightly wet. The more I thought about my wetness, the more embarrassed I got, and the wetter I got. Oh well. Eventually he got lost in his photos again, and I got lost too, relaxing entirely. It was as if I simultaneously felt nothing at all and absolutely everything in the room. He came over a couple of times to adjust my body against the glass. “Are you getting what you need?” I asked one time. “Exactly what I need,” he said, smiling off into the distance. I wanted to get some kind of reaction out of him, but I was having no effect. At the end of the shoot he asked me to sit on the chair for a few relaxed shots. He assured me that these, where my face wouldn’t be hidden by the silk or the light on the glass, would not be shown to anyone without my permission. I started horsing around a bit, doing a few pin-up girl poses – with my knees together and up on tippy toes, things like that. He was intense as ever, though, and so I began to watch him more closely as he watched me. I liked the way he moved too, like a tiger around its prey. He was so intent on my body that I could study his, which was muscled and flexible like some martial arts expert. I thought of asking to take a few naked photos of him, but I held my tongue. But he was so oblivious (while being so focused), that I let myself dream a bit, and time began to slow. “Try some different poses,” he said in a low voice. I put a hand behind my neck, put one to a breast. The nipple shocked me with its hardness. Was it cold in there? I suddenly wondered, stupidly. Then I put both hands on the insides of my thighs and slowly moved them up towards my belly. I dared to let one hand move gently across my pubic hair – accidentally on purpose – and again I was shocked by myself. That whole area was moist with my juices, and suddenly I felt dizzy with lust. What was I doing? It had never crept up on me this way, so unnoticed. “How many women have you photographed for this?” I asked drunkenly as my hand trailed up across my belly. Quite a few, he said, but I was the most intuitive. “And do you never get excited, or does that not even enter your mind when you’re working.” “It does,” he said with a smile that was like a smirk. “But for me the work and the excitement are perfectly balanced, and one helps create the other.” I dropped my hand back down a bit and smiled slightly. “My husband would go mad for one of these photos,” I said. And he began clicking even faster. I wanted to fuck him right then, Mr. X, and I hardly know why. I wanted him to take off his clothes and move over to me like a tiger, his cock closer and closer until it was inside of me. But he didn’t. He just took a few more photos. These were a bit sexier (at least I think they were), but soon enough we were wrapping up, and I had the towel around me, and then I was back in the bathroom and dressed. When I came out he was like another person, all lightness and charm. He thanked me profusely and said I was a beautiful woman. He also said that when the photos were developed, he would call so that I could come over and have a look. I thanked him too…and rushed home and stripped off my clothes again – immediately. All I could think of was him, and how his body might look and feel. With two fingers to my clit, and two fingers of my other hand inside of me, I came almost immediately, imagining that my fingers were his. Even now, I can’t stop thinking about the day he’ll call, and what I’ll do. I want him to see me naked again, and this time I want it to go further. You’ve gotten me into an exciting mess, Mr. X (I’ve been open, so please tell me you’ll be discreet). I want it now, X. The thought is so exciting that I can hardly stand it. It’s not that I want an affair – absolutely not. I just want to explode. Am I going crazy? Maybe, maybe not. Still trembling me Array

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