Freelance
Keywords: Freelance,
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When I left my house, I wasn't entirely sure why I took the job. But as I drove, praying the sputtering in the engine was just my imagination, I knew. I was broke.
For what felt like the millionth time, I cursed my decision to leave Blackwell Modeling as an assistant photographer. What made me think I could handle the stresses and demands a freelance photographer had to deal with everyday? Sure, I wasn't so much a photographer as an assistant with Blackwell, but at least it was steady work, a steady paycheck... steady gropes from the boss.
I sighed and shook my head to clear it. Robert Blackwell was a low-life ass with grabby hands. He rarely let me touch his cameras once he switched from SLR to digital, and that switch also diminished his need for an assistant. Rob no longer needed me to process his film or manage his slide library. Instead, he kept me around to fetch his coffee and to cop a feel. Not that I was opposed to sex with the boss; Rob was hot, so I could overlook his sleaziness, but he only stayed interested long enough to get himself off. Screw my needs.
So, I left to start my own career, but it was times like these, leaving my house long after sunset, driving around LA for weird, random jobs, when I questioned the move. I could hear Rob now...
"You'll never make it on your own, Simone, love. But you go, try it out. And when you fail and prove me right, you come on back. I'll find something for you to do."
No. I firmly pushed all thoughts of Rob, his stupid smirk, his hands, and my doubts out of my mind. This was the right thing to do. It had to be, because I was rapidly approaching rock bottom.
Twenty minutes later, I checked the scrap of paper I wrote the directions down on. I was here.
Taking a deep breath, I grabbed my camera bags and my purse, and headed up the walk. It was a nice house, nothing overly fancy, but certainly not cheap. Private drive, thick trees around the property.
I normally tried to avoid working late at night, but this client, a Miss Shelly Brighton, was willing to pay more for my time. We had talked several times, and she wanted something rough, something natural in quality. Nothing staged, which meant I didn't need to carry too much equipment with me. She just wanted some portraits of herself done.
I was running through a mental checklist as I rang the doorbell. I had two portable lights in one bag, and another two in the car, just in case the lighting in her house was poor. I had my primary camera as well as my backup camera, and several lenses. Extra battery packs, check. The job had sounded straightforward, the whole reason why I took it, but you never knew.
My hand rose to press the doorbell again when the door opened and I got my first look at Ms. Shelly Brighton. She was about my age, 26 years old, and around my height, 5'9'', slender, with the requisite LA boob job. Where my hair was a curly blonde, she had red hair that fell sleekly around her body, reaching all the way down to her waist. Her eyes were light brown and her lips were slicked with pink lip gloss. She wore nothing but a nude colored lacy bra and thong... and she was gorgeous.
I swallowed hard, and dismay flooded me. This was not going to be a few straightforward portraits, I could feel it.
"Ms. Brighton?" I managed to pull myself together, and was pleased when my voice sounded smooth, professional. "I'm Simone Daniels."
"Please. Call me Shelly," she replied, shaking my extended hand before opening the door wider and gesturing. "Won't you come in?"
I stepped past her, catching a whiff of her perfume. Something smooth, sensual, the kind you'd put on to seduce your lover. I managed not to sigh, but just barely, my deprived body reacting to her scent. I could feel my nipples tighten a little and prayed it didn't show through my shirt. It had been a long while since I had any satisfaction, and if tonight's job was going to be what I thought it was, I would need some personal time later on at home.
Shelly maneuvered her way in front of me, giving me a nice view of her round, tight ass. I hadn't noticed before, but she wore tall stilettos. With each step, her hips moved provocatively back and forth, back and forth. I cleared my throat and gripped my camera bags tighter.
"If you need a few more minutes to get ready, I can set up my equipment." Please, I prayed silently, go put something more on.
"Oh, I'm ready whenever you are, honey." Warning bells sounded loudly in my head; no, this was not going to be a straightforward portrait.
I could only follow as she led me through the house, her hips swaying the whole way, till we came to the sun porch.
"I know I should have mentioned the kind of portrait I wanted, but I didn't want to scare you off," she said turning to face me fully, her lips curved up in a smile. "See, I'm a fan of yours. I saw ads you did in Vogue a few months back with Marguerite, and thought it was so tastefully erotic. That's the kind of self portrait I'd like."
I knew exactly what she was referring to. The first job I had once going freelance was with a popular up-and-coming model, Marguerite Delco, and was shown in Vogue magazine. It was the first, and only, really big break I had had to date. And Shelly was right; it was tastefully erotic, with only jewelry and accessories hanging off the model's perfect body. But that wasn't my choice; it was what the client wanted, and I wasn't entirely comfortable doing it then or now.
"Well, Shelly, to be honest, I'm not entirely comfortable-" I began, but she cut me off.
"I know what you're going to say, and I'll make it worth your time." I took a step back, trying not to look at her breasts and the lacy, barely there bra that held them very close together.
"I really don't-"
"I'll pay you triple what we originally agreed on." I paused, and did the quick math. Triple would allow me to fully overhaul my car, and still pad my savings.
"But I don't have anything remotely close to the jewelry we used for the shoot-"
"Oh, but I do!" She moved to a wicker table and opened a big jewelry case to show me the long necklaces and earrings inside. I hesitated again; part of me definitely wanted to see Shelly with even less on, but this couldn't be professional, could it?
"Triple?" I asked.
"Triple," she replied with a grin.
I only nodded to her as I set my cases down and took stock of the room. Shelly had cleared most of the furniture out, leaving just a lounge chair covered with some black gauzy material and the side table with the jewelry case. As I set up my equipment, my eyes kept sliding over to her and down her body. She was bent over the table slightly, looking through the jewelry box, giving me a perfect view of the thin material snuggled in between the cheeks of her ass. I could feel a tingle in between my legs, but could only press my thighs together tightly. The thin cargo pants I wore couldn't create enough friction.
Not that I would have the time to take care of it, anyway, as Shelly turned back to me just then.
"Are there any poses in particular you'd like me to take?" I asked, as I bent forward to turn my portable stereo on. Low instrumental music pumped through.
"Yes, actually." I stepped closer as she explained a few poses, all of which showcased a single piece of jewelry against her lovely body.
I gamely nodded, and picked up my camera as she slipped off the bra. Her back was to me when she did so, and did my best to muffle a whimper as she bent over to slide the thong completely off. My eyes were riveted to her legs and the place where they met. I could feel my mouth water as I got a clear view of bare pussy.
Without thinking, I lifted the camera to my eye and clicked off a few shots.
"Are we starting?" she asked, fussing with her belt as she sat on the lounge chair, facing away from me.
"Just a few test shots," I replied. Though it felt like that image of her pussy would be forever burned in my mind, holding my camera, feeling the familiar knobs and dials underneath my hands helped me to relax and calm down.
We didn't speak but a few words to teach other as we went through each shot she wanted. Her hair a sleek waterfall, ending just above her ass, the tips just touching the slender silver belt. The cabochon stones covering her nipples as she sat and smiled ever so slightly into the camera.
Though I was mostly professional with my camera placement, as time went on and we became more comfortable with each other, I began to encourage her into more provocative poses.
"Arch your back and tilt your head to the side," I murmured, stepping closer to the chair. Through my lens, I saw the light glint off of a large hanging pendant, the reflections the stone scattered across her firm breasts, her hard nipples. It was a beautiful sight. "Arch a little more, that's it."
It seemed the more I talked to her, the closer I got, the more Shelly responded, the more she moved and writhed on the chair. Despite my best efforts, the tingling I felt in my pussy turned into a full-blown heat, and I was no longer trying to fight it. I let the camera hang from the strap around my neck as I reached over to undo the necklace.
"Lift your hips up, I want to try something." She obeyed without hesitation, and I slid the long necklace around her slim hips. Moving so that I had one leg on either side of the chair just above her head, I snapped a few shots of her long body. "That's gorgeous."
I stepped down to her feet to catch that angle, and noticed her staring right at me. I started to lower the camera when she parted her legs.
"And how's this?" she whispered, her hands sliding down her body to rest on her knees. I hesitated only a few seconds before I reached between them and pulled the necklace down into the V of her legs, the backs of my fingers grazing her lower lips as I nestled the pendant against her clit. She was already wet, and I knew I wanted her.
"Perfect," I answered quietly, snapping off a few pictures of this position.
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Keywords: Freelance,