by C. P. Vanner
‘Beth,’ a voice called, and she looked up to find Parnell in front of her. ‘I’m ready,’ he said, ‘but aren’t there supposed to be four girls?’
‘Of course,’ Beth replied, rifling through the papers on her lap. ‘Who’s missing?’ She looked at the set-up. The three girls, warmer now but bored, were acting up on behalf of the pimply youth looking at them through a camera viewfinder. As Beth watched they turned in a line away from him, bent down and pushed down the bottom halves of their bikinis, revealing three bottoms as pink as the sunset behind them. Then they collapsed into each other’s arms, howling with laughter as the young man emerged from behind the camera looking all flustered. ‘Oh, a new girl, Natasha Perry,’ she said.
‘Well she’s late,’ Parnell snapped impatiently. ‘She should be sacked before she starts.’
‘She should be smacked,’ Beth corrected, under her breath.
‘Did someone mention my name?’ asked a breathless voice from behind them. A small dark girl stood by the door, her cheeks pink as if she had been running.
Having chosen her from a composite Beth was glad to see the model in the flesh, and she liked what she saw. Natasha was cute and petit, and she would make a pleasing contrast to the comfortably endowed girls already present. And she was certainly very pretty.
‘Get out of your street clothes and into a swimsuit,’ Parnell told her, pointing to a side door that led to a dressing room. ‘As quickly as you can.’
Five minutes later he was in his element, directing the four girls, a make-up artist and his assistant, as if he was staging a major production. ‘You’re on the veranda of a grand house on a beautiful Caribbean island at the end of a perfect day,’ he said. ‘You are the cool people, the jet set, enjoying what the cool people enjoy; ice cream.’
As the assistant placed tall glasses containing a pink concoction on the wrought iron table, Parnell went on. ‘Don’t eat it, just pretend; it’s really mashed potatoes. Cold, pink mashed potatoes. Real ice cream melts.’
Beth watched as Parnell positioned the girls and redirected the lights. The assistant turned on a fan, so that a breeze ruffled the girls’ hair.
‘There,’ Parnell said finally. ‘The coolest way to end the day.’
They’d have to work on that slogan, Beth thought, as the shooting began. She admired Parnell’s uncharacteristic patience and his professionalism whilst shooting. She could see why he was amongst the best in the business; the pains he took to get everything, each strand of hair, each delicate flower, just right. Even the plain and dowdy looked their best in a Parnell picture, and the attractive looked utterly gorgeous.
The models were aware of his reputation. When the Rybix shoot was over they crowded around him, asking that he take portrait shots of them for their portfolios. He reluctantly agreed and although he shot the photographs quickly, he still took great care to do as good a job as he could within a short time. When they had left for the dressing room, talking excitedly amongst themselves, Parnell turned to Beth with a questioning look.
‘It looked good,’ she said. ‘I can’t wait to see the results.’
Parnell studied her face closely. ‘You know, you’re prettier than that lot. I should photograph you, for your album.’
He turned away, dispatching his assistant to the dark room, and began to clear up the ‘veranda’. Beth followed him to help.
‘You really think so?’ she asked, picking up the potted hibiscus, the germ of an idea forming in her head.
Parnell looked at her face again, now framed by white, scented flowers. ‘Sure,’ he said. ‘I’ve got more than an hour left, and you’re paying for my time anyway.’
‘Well, okay, but we’d better wait until the other girls have gone,’ she said excitedly, carrying the plant to the door.
Fifteen minutes later the girls had gone and the pimply assistant, Joe, had been sent to lunch.
‘Let’s get you into a good light,’ Parnell said. ‘Soft and honey-coloured like your hair.’ He fiddled around for ages, changing the lights and filters, shooting off test pictures, seeming to take far more care with Beth than he had with the portraits of the girls.
And Beth was flattered. ‘You don’t have to try so hard, you know,’ she said. ‘We’ll still be coming back to you for more work.’
Parnell laughed her remark off. ‘But you’re worth it,’ he said. ‘You really are very lovely, and natural. I am trying to capture that.’
When finally he was happy with every detail, he shot off two complete films of her head and shoulders, muttering instructions every now and then. Eventually he told her to relax. ‘That should do,’ he said. ‘One or two of them looked really good.’
‘Do... do you ever shoot nudes?’ Beth ventured to ask, trying to appear casual, and instead of replying directly he beckoned her to a bookcase and selected a large green folder. Beth leafed through it. On each page was a different nude; men and women, very sexy but not obscene. Many of the subjects gleamed with oil and looked as if they had been burnished like polished brass. Beth was impressed. They were good enough for a gallery, especially the ones of the men. The men looked as if they had been photographed with love; the women with admiration.
Beth did not look at him. ‘Would, um, would you shoot me like that, in the nude, Peter?’ she asked, adding, ‘It would be for a friend - a very close friend.’
‘Those take hours,’ he said, nodding at the folder in her hands, but when she looked crestfallen he relented. ‘But I suppose we could do one or two, just to see how they look. Ah well, there goes my lunch.’
He waved her to the dressing room. ‘There should be a robe behind the door,’ he told her.
As she was undressing, Beth remembered with delight that the diamond pendant was in her bag. She intended to take it to the jewellers that afternoon to be cleaned. When she was naked, she fastened it around her neck and admired herself in the full length mirror. Then, putting on the robe, it suddenly struck her how strange the situation was; a situation she had created. She was not worried about Parnell seeing her naked; he was a professional photographer and anyway, she had heard that he was gay. But she had also heard that he was an outrageous gossip, and that did suddenly worry her. She certainly did not want this, her taking advantage of a perk of her job, to backfire.
When she reappeared in the studio Parnell was bent behind the camera at the same set-up he had used for the portraits. Beth moved straight to her spot, dropped the robe and started posing, thrusting her full breasts towards the camera.
‘Wow,’ Parnell muttered, straightening up and looking directly at her chest. He approached and cupped the diamond pendant in his hand, admiring it closely. Beth could not help smiling, because he hadn’t even noticed the perfect twin cushions between which the pendant rested. So the stories she’d heard about him must be right; her natural female vanity certainly would not permit any other conclusion.
Parnell returned to the viewfinder and resumed his directions: Right arm up, demure not obvious, left knee bent, shake the hair loose.
After several clicks of the shutter Beth turned around. ‘From behind as well, please Peter,’ she purred.
A few more clicks later and she bent forward, almost double.
‘I didn’t tell you to move,’ Parnell said.
‘But I want some close-ups of my bottom.’
‘And I can see why,’ Parnell said admiringly. ‘Let me guess - they’re for the friend.’
There was another click and then the sound of the motor as the film rewound. As Parnell changed it, Beth plucked up her courage. ‘Peter,’ she said sweetly, ‘I want my bottom to be reddened a little. You know, as if... as if... you know, as if I’ve been spanked for being naughty.’
Parnell looked up from the camera in his hands, his expression frozen for a moment. ‘Oh, he’s like that is he, your friend? I assume it is a he. Likes naughty girls, does
he?’ He looked back at the camera and added quietly, ‘They’re not the sort of photographs I usually take. I have a reputation to think about, you know.’
‘You have, Peter,’ Beth agreed. ‘A very good one, if not the best. But just this once - for me? No one will ever know.’
As he fitted the camera back on the tripod, Beth resumed her position, bending down away from the lens. Parnell approached her. ‘A little shade of red might be aesthetically pleasing, I suppose,’ he said, without much enthusiasm, and he lightly slapped her bottom.
Beth sighed impatiently. ‘Harder, Peter,’ she urged. ‘Harder. It has to be red...’
‘Excuse me,’ someone said from the other end of the room. ‘I don’t mean to interrupt.’
Beth straightened up quickly, wheeling around and reaching for her robe at the same time. ‘Who let you in?’ she gasped, unable to see the figure clearly because of the lights in her eyes. ‘Who are you?’
‘You should learn to knock,’ Parnell said angrily, moving away from Beth.
‘I’m sorry,’ said the figure, approaching into the light. ‘It’s only me - Natasha Perry. I think I left my bag behind.’ She spoke in a breathless rush. ‘Luckily we were having lunch in a pub just around the corner when I realised.
‘Don’t mind me, though,’ the lovely girl added, and darted to the dressing room, returning a moment later carrying a large cloth bag. ‘Got it,’ she said brightly, but made no attempt to leave.
‘We are rather busy,’ Beth said, trying to appear unflustered.
‘So I see,’ Natasha smirked cheekily. ‘I couldn’t help noticing when I came in.’ Beth was annoyed to see the slight smile playing around the girl’s lips. Her eyes were sparkling and her cheeks were still flushed.
Natasha turned to Parnell. ‘May I stay and watch?’ she asked. ‘It looked like an interesting shoot.’
‘No, you may not,’ Beth retorted for him, grasped the girl by the arm and led her towards the exit. ‘This is not the way to get future work, you know,’ she said, almost pushing Natasha through the door.
‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘I didn’t mean to intrude. It’s just that you’re so attractive I couldn’t help looking. I hope I see you again some time.’
After she had gone, Beth knew she would have to start all over again to persuade Parnell to take the photographs she wanted. He protested that the spell was broken and that time was short. In return, she pleaded that it would only take a matter of minutes, but he would not budge and began to pack away some of his equipment.
They were still debating the situation when there was a knock on the door. ‘That bloody girl,’ Beth snapped, striding across the room. ‘What now?’ she barked as she flung open the door.
It wasn’t Natasha, but Celeste, and with a straight face she announced, ‘I am from marketing and media at Rybix. I’ve come to see how everything is going.’
‘Who is this young man?’ Parnell said, approaching behind Beth.
The words of introduction stuck in Beth’s throat. Young man? Celeste, a young man? She looked closely at her friend, who playfully winked at her. She could be a young man, Beth thought. She looked at her friend’s slender figure, her short hair, strong eyebrows, dark trouser suit, white shirt, tie, and little make-up. She could indeed be a young man.
‘This is, um, Charlie,’ Beth said to Parnell, choosing the first name that came into her head. ‘Sh... he’s a friend of mine. He works for Rybix.’
‘Not the friend in question, I hope,’ Parnell said to Beth, his eyes glued to Celeste. ‘I’m Peter Parnell,’ he said to her. ‘Welcome to my den, Charlie.’
‘No, not the friend in question,’ Beth told him. ‘But a good friend, all the same.’
Parnell took Celeste by the arm. ‘You might be just what we are looking for, Charlie,’ he said, unable to hide his attraction for what he thought was a slightly effeminate male. ‘An answer to this maiden’s prayer, so to speak.’
He looked at Beth, and she realised he was interested again in her request - even excited by what might develop from it. So the brief impasse was settled.
‘Why don’t we use Charlie in your photographs?’ he suggested.
‘Use me, in what way?’ Celeste asked, and Beth noted with amusement that she dropped her voice a little.
Parnell turned to Beth. ‘I think you should explain it to Charlie,’ he said.
So Beth did; about the photographs she wanted, and how she therefore needed a light spanking just for the colourful effect.
‘Then why not use make-up?’ Celeste said, and Beth knew her friend was being deliberately awkward.
‘Because it wouldn’t look right, it would show,’ she said.
‘So I get to spank you,’ Celeste said with a smile. ‘What, right now? Here and now?’
‘No, over here, Charlie,’ Parnell said. ‘I’ll use you in the shot.’
‘Only in one or two,’ Beth countered. ‘I want some close-ups too.’
When the two girls were in front of the lights, Beth took off the robe again and bent down before her friend. As Parnell busied himself behind the camera, Celeste enjoyed her new role. ‘What a beautiful bottom,’ she said, to no one in particular. ‘A magnificent target, don’t you think?’
‘Not quite yet,’ said Parnell. ‘I’m not ready.’
‘Just there, I think,’ Celeste said, running her hand over the middle of Beth’s bottom, the most prominent part of the inviting cheeks.
‘Okay,’ said Parnell, ‘I’m ready now.’
Celeste smacked Beth hard, shook her hand and then smacked her again. ‘It’s working,’ she said. ‘Your bottom is going quite a lovely shade of pink.’ With that, she smacked her twice more.
All the while Parnell was shooting; the two girls could hear the click of the shutter.
‘Can you see the marks?’ Beth asked Parnell, her voice a little strained, betraying the stinging tingle she was feeling in her beaten buttocks.
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘but maybe one or two more would really do the trick.’
Beth clutched her knees even tighter and Celeste delivered a flurry of smacks on the middle of the delicious target in front of her.
‘You look really good, Charlie,’ Parnell encouraged from behind his camera. ‘Really quite masterful.’
‘That does it,’ Beth said, standing up. ‘You two are enjoying this too much.’
‘But it’s for your benefit,’ Parnell reminded her. ‘This is all at your insistence.’
‘Your bottom is quite scarlet now,’ Celeste added. ‘And I’m beginning to enjoy this.’
‘Too bad,’ Beth said, pushing her out of shot. ‘Now,’ she said to Parnell, ‘some close-ups of my bottom, please. The marks do show, don’t they?’
‘They do,’ Celeste confirmed, clearly proud of her handiwork, ‘but I’ll happily provide some more.’
When the shoot was over Beth put on the robe, and as she was heading for the dressing room she heard Celeste say, ‘Photography’s such an interesting profession, Peter. May I call you Peter? I’d love to see more of what you do,’ and Beth almost choked on a laugh as she heard Parnell invite her friend to see his darkroom sometime.
‘I’m going to stay behind for a while,’ Celeste announced, once Beth was dressed again and re-emerged from the dressing room. ‘Peter is going to show me how things here work.’
‘Charlie can bring you the negatives of the Rybix ice cream shoot and the prints of the best of your shots later,’ Parnell added. ‘He can help me with some developing.’
Beth looked at Celeste. ‘Bring with you all the negatives and all the prints, and contacts,’ she said.
‘Yes, ma’am,’ Celeste replied, with a cheeky mock salute.
Beth was already at home by the time Celeste returned in the evening. Celeste threw her a large envelope. ‘The photographs are good,’ sh
e said. ‘You don’t look bad, either.’
Beth leafed through the sheets inside. ‘How was it?’ she asked idly. ‘How long did you stay?’
Celeste giggled. ‘He thought we were lovers, you and me,’ she told her.
‘We are lovers,’ Beth pointed out.
‘Not that way, silly,’ Celeste said. ‘Boy and girl lovers.’ She blushed slightly. ‘But he did find out that we weren’t.’
‘And how, exactly, did he find out?’ Beth demanded.
Celeste’s blush deepened. ‘How do you think?’ she said impishly.
‘You didn’t.’
‘I did,’ Celeste said, looking smug.
‘The poor man must have been shattered,’ Beth said, immediately worrying about her professional relationship with Parnell. ‘Finding out you’re not a young man, and that he’d made a fool of himself. He wouldn’t have liked that at all.’
‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Celeste replied airily. ‘I think he really enjoyed it all, in the end.’
‘Enjoyed it all?’ As the meaning of her friend’s words sank in, a smile broke out on Beth’s face. ‘Do tell.’
‘Shan’t,’ Celeste replied, but she too was smiling.
‘Tell, or I’ll spank it out of you.’
So Celeste took up the classic stance of a storyteller, standing with her back to the fireplace, hands behind her bottom, feet slightly apart. She began to rock gently on her heels. With her smart suit and short hair, Beth thought, she really did look like a handsome young male.
‘It all began in the darkroom,’ Celeste said, using her ‘Charlie’ voice. ‘He seemed very keen to impress me; you know, how good he is at photography and how much he knows about it. He got me to do some of the work. I helped to develop the photographs of you. As you can guess it was very warm and dark in there, and quite cramped. Every time I was working at a bench I would find him pressed up against my back, his groin against my bum. He was guiding me but enjoying himself at the same time - I could feel it. When the prints of you were developing, he said what a nice bottom you had and asked me if it had turned me on, spanking you, and then he mentioned my bottom as well. There was nothing, he said, like a tight male bum compared to the female version. Bloody cheek of the man. I could see the way his mind was working. He told me how much he could help me in my career, what he would do for me, and all the time he was rubbing himself harder and harder against me.