Dirty Shots (3 page)

Crossing campus, Anya headed up to her room to grab her towel and wash bag. She wanted to make sure her skin was silky smooth before she met with Eric. It was important that when he photographed her she was as perfect as possible. Yes, things could easily be blended away with Photoshop these days, but she didn’t want Eric to feel he needed to do such things. The images should not be her enemy, reminding Eric of all the imperfections she knew she had.

She pushed open the door to her room to find her roommate, Nadine, lying on her bed on her stomach. She was looking down at her tablet, smiling at something she was watching online, but glanced up as Anya entered.

Nadine propped herself up on her side and flipped her long, dark hair away from her face. “Hey, stranger. Any chance you’re staying around this evening? There’s a big party. Everyone is going.”

Anya shook her head. “Sorry, sweetie. I’m going out.”

Her eyes went wide. “Ooh! You’re seeing this mysterious guy again, aren’t you?”

Anya opened her mouth, but her roommate waved her down. “No, no. Don’t say anything. Let me guess. He’s married, isn’t he?”

She laughed. “I hope not!”

“Okay, he’s seriously ugly and you’re too embarrassed to be seen in public with him.”

The image of his high cheekbones, deep brown eyes, and shock of dark hair sprang to mind. She shook her head. “Not a chance.”

“Who is he, then? I can’t believe you’re not telling me.”

She grabbed her wash bag. “I need to go and get ready. Mind your own business for once!”

Her friend’s voice chased her out. “Not going to happen!”

Thankfully, she found the bathroom empty. Anya took a shower and then shaved, waxed, plucked, and moisturized every inch of her skin. She sprayed herself lightly with her fragrance, Shalimar by Guerlain, and then applied a little makeup. She’d gotten the impression Eric liked it when her face appeared innocent, a contrast to the positions he photographed her in.

Instead of heading back to her room to get ready, she stayed in the bathroom, wanting to avoid Nadine’s line of enquiry. She didn’t want anyone else knowing about what she was doing with Eric. She worried about it getting back to her straight-laced family, though no one at the college had ever met her family or probably ever would. It was too easy for news like this to spread like wildfire. Especially with social media. If people discovered Eric Rutherford was photographing her in explicit poses, she would never be able to walk through campus again without someone firing comments at her.

Her life wouldn’t be worth living.

––––––––

A
nya turned up at precisely
four o’clock. The moment she entered the apartment, something inside him changed, as though she filled a part of him he’d not even known was missing.

“You surprised me yesterday, Eric,” she said as soon as she walked through the door.

“Oh? How so?”

“You seemed ... tame. With your photography, I mean.”

“Are you telling me you expected it to be more explicit?”

She smiled at him. “After the photographs you showed me the first day, yes, of course.”

A thrill went through him. “How much more explicit?”

“I was expecting things to be far more intimate ...”

“I wanted to take things slowly. To build up to those kind of photographs.”

She dumped her purse on the floor. “I’m a grown woman, Eric. And even if I look innocent, I can assure you I’m not. I’ve shown men my pussy before.”

He swallowed; her use of language had shocked him. “Okay. I’m happy to move to the next step if you are.”

She smiled, an expression that combined an innocence mixed with a devilish mind that made him want to grab her, turn her over his knee, and spank her ... hard. “Oh, I’m ready. I think I made that pretty clear.”

Today, she wore a short, pleated, kilt-like skirt, and a white shirt, demurely done up to the neck. As he watched, she slipped the top button of her blouse from its corresponding hole and worked her way down, exposing her bra and naked skin. She wore ankle boots, but made no attempt to remove them. Neither did she remove her skirt. Instead, she unclipped her bra and dropped it to the floor, exposing her beautiful breasts, and then lifted her skirt, hooked her thumbs into the top of her panties and rolled them down her legs. The underwear caught in the straps of her boots for a moment and she let out a girlish giggle, hopping on one foot to free them.

She managed it and looked up at him, laughter dancing in her eyes, a blush warming her creamy cheeks. The sight made his heart lurch, and it wasn’t just because she now stood topless and panty-less before him. No, it was the expression on her face, her way of appearing both demure and sexy at the same time.

Anya got down onto the white paper covered floor of his studio set-up. She reached down to flip the skirt up so it ruffled around her flat stomach and spread her legs for him, her feet planted on the floor, her knees bent. Then she reclined, half-propped up on her elbows so she could focus her gaze on both him and the camera.

Eric tried to still his thumping heart, taking a couple of surreptitious long breaths. He flicked on the spotlight he had positioned on the set, directing its beam to that secret place between her thighs. She watched him, a serious expression on her face, no longer the laughing girl.

He got behind the lens, focusing the zoom, his gaze drawn between her thighs, taking in every detail.

The puffy swell of her outer lips, shaven clean and pink, except for the small patch of curls left on her mound. The slender, slightly wrinkled lips of her labia peeped through, framing the swollen dark slit. The way she reclined, with her hips tilted upward, meant he also had a view of the tight pucker of her anus and the faint lines where her buttocks met her thighs.

She reached between her thighs and used her forefinger and middle finger to create an inverted V, pulling her pussy lips back, making her clit pop forward, exposing the delicate, shiny flesh of her inner labia.

He snapped photo after photo. Raw, intimate images.

Without needing to be told, Anya flipped herself over and lifted her bottom toward him, flashing her swollen lips beneath her perfect cheeks. Like any great model, she continued to move, an ebbing, flowing being who seemed to know exactly what positions the camera would love.

Eric could hardly wait to review the photographs. The anticipation of looking back at the beauty the camera had captured was almost as much pleasure as taking the images themselves.

Outside the apartment windows, daylight began to dim, evening quickly encroaching. Though he could continue like this all night, it was unfair to keep her here as he wasn’t even paying her. He didn’t want her to get sick of what they were doing together.

Reluctantly, he lowered the lens. “That was amazing. Thank you.”

“We’re done?”

He nodded. “For today. It’s good to keep things fresh.”

She gave him a smile of, what, surely not disappointment? Was she disappointed he’d not taken things further?

Anya set about picking up her discarded clothing and redressing. His heart sank at the sight of her covering her flawless, porcelain skin, the dark buds of her nipples, the narrow inward curve of her waist.

He longed to ask her out to dinner, or at least offer her a glass of wine. He wanted to know her, know all about her, even though he felt like in a way he already did. Her lack of inhibitions, her playfulness, her way of being completely direct, all of those qualities enthralled him, and he wanted more. He wanted to find out what foods she liked and disliked, what music she listened to in her apartment, who she went home to after she left here. But that wasn’t the reason for her being here; that wasn’t what he’d offered her at the start. This was supposed to be a professional relationship, and him doing any of those things would breach the line of what made them purely artistic comrades and become something more—if not lovers, then at least friends. If he did such a thing, would he be able to photograph her impartially? Hell, would she even say yes?

Oblivious to his thoughts, Anya reclaimed her purse and headed to the door.

Don’t leave,
he inwardly begged.

But he couldn’t give voice to his thoughts. To do so would be breaking the boundaries he’d so rigidly set for himself.

“Same time tomorrow?” he managed to croak.

She swung her head around, her blonde hair moving in a sheet of white gold. “I’ll look forward to it.” Then she stopped, hesitating. “Can I say something?”

“Err, well, yes ...” He fell over his words, wondering what was coming up. “Of course.”

“Tomorrow I’d like to try something a bit kinkier. Do you think we could do that?”

His mind set in a whirl.
Does she think I’ll say no?

“Yes, of course. I was just ... you know... building up to things.”

She flashed him that angelic smile again and his heart contracted. An angel and demon all rolled into one. He hoped he could capture those contrasting qualities in his pictures.

“I’m all built up, Eric,” she said. “You can do whatever you want.”

***

E
ric woke the following morning
and climbed out of bed with a sense of impatient excitement. There seemed to be too many hours until Anya would be back in his apartment, and he knew each one would drag slowly and painfully by. That day he was due at a New York college to give a lecture to a group of students. Normally, he enjoyed teaching, allowing his enthusiasm and expertise to inspire others, but that morning the lecture felt like a hurdle to get over before he could spend more time with Anya.

Anya, Anya, Anya.

Does she think of me?
Was she spending her waking moments filled with a tantalizing energy at the memory of what they’d done and at the prospect of what would come next? Or did all thoughts of him and the camera vanish from her head the moment she walked out the door?

Was this just another job to her?

No, she’d not wanted to be paid. She came back here because she enjoyed the creation of their art.

Just the thought of her made his whole body thrum with excitement. The image of her face occupied his every thought—the last thing in his mind when he fell asleep, the first thing when he woke. He wanted to submerge himself in her energy. She seemed to be his new fixation.

No, he couldn’t allow himself to think that way. He’d suffered from obsessing over his work before, something that had taken him to the darkest point of his life. He’d conquered those problems a long time ago. And besides, this was different. It was her claiming his thoughts, not just his work, despite the two things going hand in hand.

Eric stripped off his shorts, stepped into a steaming hot shower, and started to soap himself down. The four times weekly gym trips not only helped him to keep to a fixed routine, they also kept his body hard and lean.

With the beautiful blonde on his mind, the water coursed down his body like a lover’s fingers. He reached out, placed his palms on the glass walls surrounding him, and hung his head, allowing the water to drum the back of his neck. Images of Anya, half naked and exposed for him, filled his head. Blood flowed to his cock, his balls tightening with a pleasurable ache.
No
. He tried to push the thought of her away. He couldn’t allow himself to go there. How would he look at her again without thinking about what his body wanted him to do to her? But it wasn’t working, his erection continuing to lengthen and grow.

“Fuck, it,” he growled, grabbing his rock-hard dick in his soapy hand. As soon as he tightened his grip, his body sagged in relief. This was what he needed. He started to masturbate slowly, stroking the satin, soap-slicked skin with a firm hold, his eyes squeezed shut. In his head, he brought forth the memory of Anya’s beautiful pussy, her tight, wet slit. How would it feel to push himself inside her, to have her inner muscles hold him tight? He imagined sliding his cock in and out of her, fucking her harder, faster, while her glorious breasts bounced with his every movement and her face twisted in pleasure.

He quickened his movements, his ass clenched tight, as his orgasm built. His mind switched from the thought of pounding Anya’s pussy to having her on her knees in front of him, taking his erection in her mouth, those wide blue eyes staring up at him in her mock innocence. He imagined winding his hands in the back of her hair, of forcing her deeper onto his dick, of fucking her face.

He wanted her to do anything he told her, to accept anything he planned for her, and for her to want to do so willingly just to keep him happy. Would she ever do such a thing? Would they ever reach that point of complete mutual trust?

With a groan, he exploded onto the glass, coating it with streams of milky cum. His body went weak as the throes of his orgasm shuddered through him.

Eric took a deep, shaky breath, one arm still propped against the glass to hold himself up. Damn, the things that woman seemed to be able to do to him, even if it was all in his head.

He needed to hustle or he was going to be late. Quickly, he rinsed himself off, toweling the water off his hard body and short, dark hair. He felt better, as though he’d finally released a dam that had been building for the last few days. He dressed in his usual black shirt and slacks, edgy without being gothic. He wanted the students to feel they could relate to him, hopefully look up to him, without seeming like he was trying too hard.

Cutting it close, he took a cab downtown and made it on time. The dean was waiting for him and showed him into the lecture hall, where a laptop and projector had already been set up. All Eric needed to do was load his memory stick onto the computer.

Students began to file in. Engrossed in getting the laptop set up, he barely glanced up.

When the students finished entering, he straightened. He clapped his hands together and a hush fell over the small crowd.

“Good morning, everyone. My name is Eric Rutherford and I’m a multi-published photographer and fine art artist. I’m here today to discuss the usage of hard and soft light in portrait photography. I’m happy to answer any burning questions as we go along, but, if you
can
wait, I will be taking questions at the end.”