by Julia Kent
I unzipped the back of my skirt and scooted out of it, letting it drop to the floor. “Do you really think I’m sexy?” I asked him.
“What?” he said.
I was having second thoughts then. A bad time for it, seeing as I was down to my bra and panties, with the useless addition of high heels, but the thoughts remained. “I just… Asher… I don’t think I’m sexy. I really don’t. I don’t think I can do this properly. The pictures aren’t going to come out any good, no matter what. And then what? You’re not going to keep them, are you? I don’t know why I agreed to this.”
Swiftly, surely, he moved close to me. My bare thigh touched the rough cloth of his pants and he lifted his hand up to grab my chin. Making me look at him, though I wouldn’t have looked anywhere else, he leaned forward until our lips almost touched.
“Jessika,” he said to me. “You are beautiful. You are sexy and amazing and I think every picture I’ve ever taken will pale in comparison to the ones I’ll take of you. But, if you really don’t want to go through with this, I won’t force you. I want to, though. I want to do this. I want you,” he said, and my heart skipped a beat as he paused, “to want this, too.”
He held my chin in his hands, keeping me facing him. I wanted to look away, to turn my eyes down, to hide from him, but he forced me to bare his scrutiny. His cool, blue eyes never wavered, never stopped looking into mine, and I didn’t know if I could stand it much longer. His lips, so close that I could feel the warmth of his breath tickling along my mouth and down, down, towards my throat. So intimate and soft, yet demanding and confident all at once.
“Asher…” I said. I didn’t know what else I would say, but I wanted to feel his name quiver against my lips, to taste it.
“I would love to keep the pictures,” he said. “I would like to keep them so I can see them every day and know that we have made beautiful art together, but they are your pictures and if you want me to dispose of them afterwards then I can.”
“No!” I said hastily. What was I saying no to? “I don’t know. What do I do?”
He moved away. So close, and now so far. I had him for myself, but now I had nothing. He pressed his back against the car door and stared at me long and hard. I sat there, feeling helpless under his gaze, not knowing what to do or why I’d started doing this in the first place.
And then his hands were on me. Without warning, without asking, he eased my back onto the seat. It was large enough to fit the both of us, even with me reclining, my upper body prone. I looked at him, watched him, as he guided me downwards, cradling my shoulders so I wouldn’t fall. I let him move me and place me as he wanted, all the while feeling a thrill of pleasure race through my skin at each of his touches. My heart beat fast, faster.
When he’d finished laying me down, he moved towards my legs. One he placed against the back of the seat, pulling my foot towards his crotch. He put my toes in between his legs and pressed them further so that I could feel the warmth of his rear heating the top of my high heels. The other leg he pressed towards me so that my heel pressed as close to my crotch as I could bring it.
“Put your arms up,” Asher said. “Pretend you’re grabbing your hair, but just reach for it. Barely touch it with your fingertips.”
“What?” I asked. I was so drunk, caught up in the heady pleasure of his touches, that I couldn’t understand a word he said.
He repeated himself, then grinned and showed me an inkling of what to do.
I did it. I did exactly as he said, and followed his instructions as completely as I could. My arms bent, elbows pointed straight up, and my fingers touched my blond hair by my forehead. Asher looked on, directing me this way and that until he had me in as perfect an arrangement as he wanted.
“Arch your back,” he said. His hands reached for my hips and his thumbs pressed into my abdomen by my pubic bone. Excitement fluttered through my stomach and towards my crotch and without realizing it my body moved on its own, exactly as he wanted. My back arched, body attempting to press closer to him, hoping beyond hope that he might move his fingers lower, into my panties, and…
“Perfect,” Asher said. “This is an exquisite position. In the car, getting a good picture would be difficult, but this position is wonderful. You would make a great model, Jessika. You follow instructions well.”
His praise, his kind words, the fact that he made me feel sexy beyond belief when I didn’t think I was anything more than average; it turned me on so much. I needed to refrain myself, though. If I did, he would touch me more, I knew it. He would show me poses, shape me as he liked, touch his fingers to my stomach and my legs and my…
His hand caressed the middle of my thigh, easing towards the waistband of my panties. He brushed his fingers along the laced cotton cloth of my underwear, then pressed his hand towards the center of my body. His hand glided across my cotton-covered pussy towards my other thigh, then up that leg to my knee.
I gasped his name aloud, shivering. “Asher…”
“That would make a good picture,” he said. “That area.”
Oh, yes. Yes! That area was wonderful. I completely agreed with him.
Now his hand moved towards the front of my panties again, but this time not as low. He tugged at the waistband of my undergarment and pulled it a little lower, pressing his fingers against the uppermost part of my pubis. Spreading his fingers so his thumb and pinky finger reached towards my thighs, he moved his hand upwards across my stomach and towards my breasts.
“With your back arched,” he said. “this looks magnificent. You have a very soft stomach. The slight ‘V’ at the bottom makes the image all the more alluring.”
I arched my back further, trying to make him touch me more, hoping he would knead his fingers into my sensitive skin. But, he merely reacted to my movements and moved his fingers away the slightest amount so that the pressure he applied was always the same.
It was agonizing. I couldn’t stand it. Here I was in the back seat of his car, like some silly schoolgirl, spread out and arranged, ready for him to take, and yet there was no “taking” taking place. Strict, it seemed, and no matter how I squirmed or moved, I couldn’t sway Asher away from his professionalism.
“Stop squirming,” he commanded.
His hands grabbed my waist and he set me back to where I was. He held me hard until I stopped moving. But, oh, it was so difficult. I needed to do it, wanted to please him, and yet the longer he held me, the more I wanted to move. I wanted to writhe in his grasp and induce his passions, ruin his austere attitude and see if I could sway him towards impossible, endless lust.
I didn’t, though. I couldn’t. He waited, stared at me, held me, and with a quiet whimpering plea as my only means of complaint, I calmed myself. My lower lip moved out, some ridiculous show of disappointment, but Asher disregarded it.
I managed to maintain my composure for all of a few seconds before I lost it again.
To be fair, it wasn’t my fault. Or, not entirely. Asher shifted his hands from my waist to my bra-clad breasts and squeezed. My eyes fluttered closed and my hips bucked. The toes of my foot—the one he’d placed between his crotch—curled and dug into the leather seat. He squeezed my breasts, massaging them in his hands, toying with my nipples through the fabric. I let out a gasp that turned into a moan. Still, despite myself, I tried to maintain the pose he’d set me in. My arms stayed bent, fingers at my forehead, but this time instead of pretending to grab my hair, I pulled on it hard.
His hands tickled up the undersides of my arms towards my elbows, then down towards my wrists. I opened my eyes to look at him just in time to see his index finger moving closer to my face. Without knowing why, without being told, I opened my lips slightly and let him put his finger in my mouth. He pressed his fingertip against my tongue and I licked and swirled around it in response. My lips closed, puckering, kissing the sides of his finger, and my tongue went wild.
He watched me intently. My lower body writhed on the seat of the car and I tried to g
rind my crotch against his knee, but he kept moving it away. I attempted to suck his finger in further, to entice him into something more, but he kept pulling it away. I lifted my head, leaning forwards, but still he eluded me.
Then he pulled me up off the seat. His finger popped out of my mouth and his hand reached behind my back, pulling me forward. His other hand grabbed my rear and he lifted me into his lap. I sat there with one knee pressed against the crotch of his pants, that foot dangling below the front of the seat, and my other leg bent and pressing against his hip, my shin touching warm leather. He pulled me closer, his hand cupping my rear and squeezing hard while his other hand reached around towards the clasp of my bra, pressing me forward so my chest rubbed against his shirt.
“Put one arm around my neck,” he said.
As fast as possible, I did as he asked. My hand cupped the back of his neck, my arm resting on his shoulder. “Yes,” I said.
“Your other hand,” he said, breathing heavily. “Touch my upper arm. By my bicep.”
I did. I squeezed his arm tight, pulled myself forward. I needed and wanted him so badly. I ground my crotch against his thigh, up and down, blazing a trail for my pleasure. Asher squeezed my ass harder, pulling me closer so that I couldn’t grind against him as easily, but oh, oh I tried. Back and forth, rubbing, desperately desiring him.
The car came to a stop. No interruptions, though. Jeremy, the driver, parked the car, turned it off, opened the door, stepped out, closed the door, then left. I waited, pausing, thinking Asher and I would be interrupted at any moment and having no idea how to explain this to anyone, but none of that happened.
I breathed in and out quietly then looked at him, a faint smirk on my face. I’d won, hadn’t I? We were alone now, completely alone, and he had me in a compromising position. So easy, he could do with me what he wanted and I would never object and no one would ever know.
Except he didn’t. He looked at me, smiling. “You’re a wonderful model, but you move too much, Jessika. Also,” he added, “I wish I could take a picture of you in this position, but I’m afraid it’s impossible.”
I looked down. I couldn’t see everything, but… my fucking god, this was erotic!
I didn’t have a perfect body, far from it, but I did try to keep in shape. My soft stomach looked so flat like this as he held onto my rear with one hand and made me arch my back with the other. My thighs were curvy and seductive, one of them curled against the side of his body while the other pressed into his crotch. And my arms, my chest; we looked like a couple in the midst of intimacy. Now we should get intimate, I thought. I was no photographer, but we should take advantage of this opportunity presented to us, right?
Asher lifted me off his lap and dumped me on the seat. With a pleasant smile, he opened the door to the car and let himself out. I sat there, staring at him, dumbfounded. Was this really happening?
“Are you coming?” he asked.
“Y-yes,” I said. Yes, yes, I was coming. I looked around, found my clothes, and scrambled to put them back on.
“No need,” he said. “We’re in a garage. No one is around. It’ll be easier to resume modeling if you remain like that. Those are the kind of pictures you want, right?”
Did I? To be honest, I didn’t even want pictures at all. I wanted him to undress me, touch me, explore me with his fingers so I could leave a lasting impression in his mind. I wanted him to picture me, us, all of it together, but I didn’t necessarily want him to take pictures of me. I didn’t not want him to, but…
“Yes,” I said. Clutching my clothes against my chest, I slid across the seat towards the open car door and the garage.
Just as Asher said, no one was here. Jeremy left to who knew where, and besides that the garage was dim and empty. A smaller building that could fit three cars at the most, with smooth concrete floors and a pair of fluorescent lights overhead. My high heels clicked on the floor when I first stepped out of the car. Asher offered me his hand to help me stand and I took it with a smile.
He pulled me towards him, leading me to the doorway into the house. His guest house, he said. When we entered, it looked exactly, and nothing, like I imagined.
A guest house, in my mind, was a smaller affair. Perhaps a main room with a kitchen to the side, then stairs leading up to a bedroom or two. Modest, and simple, for the comfort of guests. Asher’s guest house was far more extravagant than that. I expected this, figured it would be that way, but it still came as somewhat of a surprise.
The first floor, the door we entered through, was a large, wide open living room-styled area. The walls were close to nonexistent(at least in a typical sense), with windows that went from floor to ceiling, save for a few scant inches of actual solid wall at the very tops and bottoms. In front of us, built into the only regular wall, was a fireplace. Unlit now, but upon seeing me staring at it, Asher flicked a switch on the wall and the hearth flared to life. Gas-powered flames roared up out of a heap of faux-logs, dancing back and forth behind shaded glass.
In front of the hearth was a sofa. Or, somewhat of a sofa. I had a couch back at my apartment, but this thing was about four times as big. It curled into a “U” shape at the ends, making the middle of the living room into more of an intimate gathering place for a small group of people. Then the kitchen, to the sides, with a small dining area past that. And stairs, of course, that must lead to bedrooms on the second floor, but would we go that far?
Could we go that far? I really wanted to know how to arrive at that answer.
Before I knew what was going on, Asher picked me up. He held me in his arms, one hand behind my shoulders with the other under the crook of my knees, and carried me towards his sofa. Dropping me onto it, he held up a finger and told me to wait.
“I’ll be right back,” he said. “I’m going to get my camera.”
I nodded, dumbstruck, staring at him, open-mouthed. When he left, I continued staring, but managed to turn my attention towards the fireplace.
We weren’t in the city anymore. I could tell as much by looking through the glass walls. Asher’s guest house had a magnificent view, with a hill sloping downwards and the clear horizon directly in front of me. Looking lower towards the bottom of the hill, I saw the city in the distance. Not too far, but far enough to look small. I lived there, I knew, but from this vantage point it looked like an entirely different place. Unrecognizable. It wasn’t late enough for it, not yet, but with sun crawling downwards from its peak, in a few more hours, if I stayed here until then, I imagined I’d have the most beautiful view of the sunset.
Asher returned with his camera, holding it up for me to see. It was a newer model, but that was all I knew from looking at it. Fancy, probably, because I doubted he would spare any cost on something he enjoyed. If I could afford to, I’d do the same. I’d buy books, a huge library, sit in there for hours at a time, reading. Curling into a chair while wearing a bathrobe and sipping at a cup of hot cocoa, and…
“Shall we get started?” Asher asked.
I turned shy again. I’d just modeled for him in his car, sort of, and now I didn’t know how to do it. I technically knew, of course, but now he was actually going to snap pictures, so it wasn’t at all the same. I tried explaining that to him.
“I don’t know how,” I said, my voice timid.
Asher smiled at me. “Just do exactly as I say,” he said.
I nodded, scared. I would do this.
“Lean back on the sofa,” he said. “Put your elbows down so you’re resting on them. Lift both your legs and rest them on the back of the sofa.”
I did as he asked, but I didn’t think this was sexy. I wasn’t doing it right, I knew that, but I also didn’t know how to do it right, either.
Asher stepped forward. He showed me where to put my elbows, and he ran his fingers along my chest towards my stomach. He meant to show me how he wanted my body to curve, I thought, but his touch distracted me. Moving one of my feet, he set it close to where I’d originally rested it on the sof
a’s back, but he bent my other leg so my knee was closer to my stomach, albeit a foot or so higher. As a finishing touch, he placed his hand on my chin and made me face him.
“Give me your sexiest look,” he said. Before I could complain, he added, “Don’t think about it, Jessika. Close your eyes, look down, part your lips. Think of something. It can be anything, but think of something that makes you smolder inside.”
I did it. I closed my eyes and parted my lips and let my mind wander. I thought of him and his office and his private meeting room table. I thought of his fingers slipping inside me, so smooth and easy, and my body melting as he manipulated me with his hands. I thought of the restaurant, The Simple Path, and his foot pressing against my panty-covered crotch, teasing my arousal-slick folds. The car, his lap, my body grinding and pressing against him, wanting him.
Click. Click. Click.
He took pictures, but I was so far out of it and lost in my imagination that I didn’t realize it at first. I leaned back, moving my elbows, but still the camera clicked away. Different spots, different angles. Asher moved my feet downwards onto the couch and I spread them slightly. He came in closer, took pictures of different areas, at different angles, but I kept my eyes closed the entire time.
“Wonderful,” he said. “You’re beautiful, Jessika.”
He moved my hands towards my panties, placing my fingers along the sides of my pubis, underneath the fabric of my underwear. Click. Click. With my eyes still closed, because I wanted to keep them that way, he asked me to stand and do more poses for him. My thumb pulled at the side of my panties waistband in some provocative display of near removal, and he captured pictures of that, too. From the front, and behind, the sides.
He led me towards the fire, then had me sit on the plush, shaggy rug in front of it. I opened my eyes then, looking at him.
“Am I really sexy?” I asked him.
“Yes,” he said sincerely. “You are.”