Escapades of an Erotic Spy - Part 1 A Spy is Born (10 page)

"Formidable, oui?"
I heard Nanette boast as she gave my bubs a
couple of playful jostles to make them bounce.

"Oui,"
I heard the photographer respond. He tried not to sound too
impressed.

Nanette's unexpected liberty with my chest
made me even more uncomfortable, and that feeling was only
exacerbated by the fact that, with the camisole over my face, I
couldn't see what the others in the room were up to. Unwilling to
endure the torment of sight deprivation any longer, I hurriedly
snatched the camisole off my head. Smirking, the other girl
immediately took it from me and deposited the underwear with the
rest of my clothes, which were piled onto a nearby couch. Then she
wedged her thumbs into the waistband of my drawers and plunged my
sole remaining garment to my ankles. She tapped my shin as a signal
to raise my foot and clear it from the drawers. I did as
instructed, and, a moment later, I was separated from every stitch
I had been wearing. I was now on full nude display for this dirty
little man. I felt more naked here than I had ever felt in Monsieur
Robinet's studio.

The creepy Tristan Zenglitz
sauntered about me in a circle, eyeing me up and down as though he
were examining goods at a market. I held a rigid pose, hoping that
was the p
rofessional
thing to do in such situations.

Damn it!—I've got no idea whether this is a
professional situation or not! It sure as hell doesn't feel
professional!

He stopped directly in front of me and
squatted so that his head was right in front of my bush. I looked
upward, trying to pay as little attention to him as possible.

"He wants to check your pussy." Nanette
swept her hands outward in the direction of my legs, which I
interpreted to mean I was to spread my feet and give the
photographer a better view of my sex.

I felt like sniping, "You can tell him I've
got one, if that's what he wants to know." However, I bit my tongue
and did as told, distasteful though I found it.

He moved his face so close to my crotch that
I expect he could smell my cunt. The thought of that disgusted me.
It would have served him right had I farted and let him really get
a whiff of something.

Finally, he turned to
Nanette and said,
"Bon. Jeudi."

That meant we had the job, and we were to be
there Thursday of the following week. I can't say I was looking
forward to it, but, come that Thursday, there I was, once again
nude, in that second-story rat hole. The only differences were that
Nanette was now equally unclothed, and Tristan Zenglitz was behind
his camera.

At least that sinister little man isn't
right next to me. Thank God for small favors.

He posed us for various shots, using a
motley assortment of dilapidated props—a table, a chair, a vase, a
wheelbarrow, a rake, a wooden box. In each case, both Nanette and I
would either hold, lean, or sit on the prop, depending on what was
most appropriate. He always had us both in the picture, usually
first on either side of the prop. Once the flash went off and he
had the initial shot, he would have us move closer together, such
that we were nearly touching—feet nearly touching, legs nearly
touching, shoulders nearly touching. Some of these poses I believed
were artistic, and striking those gave me a little bit of the good
feeling I had when I was posing for the more respectable Monsieur
Robinet.

Maybe this will all work out fine, after
all.

Then came the next big
step—actual touching. Feet touching, legs touching, shoulders
touching. Sometimes he would have us drape a hand around the
other's shoulder. On some occasions, Nanette would run a hand
behind me and let it rest on my waist.
Bosom buddies.
The photographer told
us to sit back-to-back, then to lean against one another. The feel
of her skin against mine was both off-putting and oddly enticing.
Strange though it was to be sensing another female that way, there
was something warm, soft, and comforting about that lady's bare
back.

Nanette translated all the instructions for
me. The photographer, I was told, spoke not a word of English. No
matter. There was nothing I wanted to say to him, and I certainly
didn't relish the idea of him talking directly to me. I was pleased
to let a language barrier put some distance between us.

"He wants us butt-to-butt." My cohort was
translating instructions as she rose to show where we were supposed
to stand.

I rose from my position on
the wooden box and followed to where Nanette stood. To me,
butt-to-butt
meant we’d
be close to each other but facing in opposite directions. So that’s
how I positioned myself.

“
No,
butt-to-butt
.” Nanette scooted back
until her buttocks were pressed right up against mine. “Now lean
forward.”

Is this what he wants, two naked girls,
titties hanging, bare ass against bare ass? Could it get any
weirder than this?

It did. After the butt-to-butt shot we were
instructed to face each other and hug.

Tits-to-tits! He wants us tits-to-tits! Now
he’s getting close to a line I never thought to cross.

"Um…I don't know about that." I looked to
Nanette for some support. "That's a little…you know…two girls."

"What?" she said, feigning disappointment as
she cupped her breasts. "You don't want to touch mine with yours?
Yours didn't seem to mind touching me when we were on the
bicycle."

Oh hell! She felt my nipples stiffen against
her on the bike? She must have a really sensitive ass! How
embarrassing for me! Now she probably thinks I'm one of…those kinds
of girls!

"Come on," she coaxed. "Just a little hug.
Remember, we are a team." Before I had a chance to think, she
stepped forward and wrapped her outstretched arms about me. I felt
her soft, supple mammaries nestle into my big receptive bubs.
"Nice, eh?" she cooed in my ear. "Now face the camera. Hold
still."

Flash.

Tristan Zenglitz told us to hold for another
shot like that. Nanette snuggled in a little more. Now I could feel
her hairy bush brushing up against me as well as her titties.
What's more, she slid her hand down until it came to rest on my
backside. I felt that hand start massaging my buttocks. Though it
made me emotionally uneasy, the rubbing of my ass also provided a
strangely sensual feeling that wasn't exactly unpleasant. The
tender stroking of that hand on the softness of my butt was
actually kind of comforting—bizarre though it was for another girl
to be doing that to me. There was just something soothing about
being petted. I wasn't used to it, but it had an oddly calming
effect on me.

"Hold still."

Flash.

I honestly don't know how it happened, but,
at some point, I realized that I had my own hand on Nanette's ass,
and I was gliding it almost subconsciously over those smooth, warm,
and fleshy cheeks.

"Hold still."

Flash.

For the next series of shots, the
photographer positioned us on a couch with Nanette to my right. I
struck what I deemed to be an artistically demure pose—legs
together, hands delicately crossed over my crotch. It wasn't what
he wanted.

"Like this." Nanette leaned back and spread
her legs. Even buried under that massive bush, in such a position
her pussy was vividly on display. "Come on!" she slapped playfully
at my leg. "He is waiting!"

The man at the camera scowled. I was trying
his patience. The girl clamped her left hand on my right leg and
unceremoniously yanked it apart from the other.

"Vite! Vite!"
The photographer was gesturing madly.

"Open up, Dexeter," said Nanette. "Before
you get us both in trouble."

I didn't want to cause trouble for her—or
me, for that matter. I spread my legs as wide as was still
physically comfortable. Emotionally, there was nothing comfortable
about putting my twat so flagrantly on display.

Oh, fuck! Look at what I'm doing! Showing
off my naked cunt! For money!

Flash.

"Outside foot up on the couch." Nanette was
demonstrating the pose for the next shot.

Was it possible to show even more pussy by
lifting a leg? How much pussy does this guy need? Come to think of
it, although the other poses weren't this blatant, he's been having
us flash our crotches at him all afternoon. "Shift the hips toward
the camera." "Move the knee farther out." "Lift the foot up."
Practically every fucking pose had the lens staring straight up our
alleys. No wonder he was so insistent on checking out my pussy
before he hired me. Tristan Zenglitz was a photographer whose focus
was definitely on a girl's snatch.

The door opened. In walked a light skinned
man. I screamed and instantly retracted my limbs about my nude
figure.

What's he doing here?! I'm naked for God's
sake!

As I scrunched up, mortified, the man at the
door looked perplexed. The pervert at the camera looked put out.
Next to me, the bare-ass girl with the wide open cunt moved not a
muscle, but burst into unrestrained laughter.

"It's all right," she guffawed. "He's one of
our own."

"What do you mean?"

"A model. He's here to pose." Nanette gave
the newly entered man a wave of familiarity. The man shrugged.

I sat aghast as the man began unbuttoning
his shirt. He looked to be about twenty years old, of average
height and build, and had light blond hair. He had his shoes and
shirt off almost before I could comprehend what was happening.

"What's he doing here?" I blurted.

"I told you." Nanette was as calm as could
be. "He's going to pose."

"After us?"

"With
us."

"Bushwa!" I'd have put my clothes on right
then if it hadn't been for the fact that they were piled up on the
far side of the room, and getting to them would have meant
uncrossing my arms and legs—currently the only coverings over my
bare breasts and vagina.

The photographer started making angry
sounds. My cohort glared at me.

"What are you making a fuss about?" she
fumed. "You wanted to be a model. This is modeling. You do what the
photographer wants, not what you want. And he wants us, all three,
in the picture. So what is the problem?"

I was unconvinced. This wasn't what I had
signed up for.

"He is a nice boy," Nanette continued more
quietly. "I've worked with him before. And not bad looking. Nice
penis, yes?"

Oh, my fucking god!
The man was now completely undressed and walking
in our direction, his flaccid dick bobbing from side to side with
each step. He stopped just to the right of Nanette.

"Bonjour, mon
chéri."
She greeted the naked man with a
smile and a quick stroke of his cock with her fingers. It was done
so casually that it was as though it were some type of nudist
handshake. Then she let her hands glide down to caress the fleshy
sack that hung just below. She rolled his big balls in her
palm.
"Très bien."

The man's penis started growing and
stiffening. He gave both of us on the couch a lecherous smile. It
was obvious this was a man who enjoyed his work. And that's what
worried me.

The photographer barked some instructions.
The nude man stepped to the middle of the front of the couch,
positioning himself between us. He faced the camera, his erection
now almost complete. Nanette leaned in and took hold of his
seven-inch cock with her left hand.

"Come on, Dexeter," the girl coaxed. "Legs
down. Put a hand here…right on his ass."

Why I listened to her, I don't know. Yet,
for some inexplicable reason—maybe just because I didn't yet know
how to say, "no," to Nanette—I did as she said. I was once again
wholly exposed for the camera, and I placed my right hand on the
man's buttocks. He angled his stance such that the camera could see
where my hand was. It also pointed his now fully hard cock toward
the girl who was stroking it.

This is just too fucking weird!

Flash.

Why the fuck am I doing this?

Flash.

What the fuck is wrong with me?

Flash.

The photographer gave further instructions.
The nude man angled the other way. Now his dick was jutting toward
my face. Nanette released her grasp on his manhood and offered it
up to me.

"Go ahead," she said. "Just hold it. Just
take it in your hand. It's nice."

"I'd rather not."

"Go on. He wants you to. And you know you
want to. Just feel it. Feel how hard it is."

Truth be told, it was a good-looking dick.
Firm and long and smooth. It periodically throbbed upward. It was
as though it was beckoning to me.

"Vite! Vite!"
the photographer bellowed.

Both frightened and mesmerized, I raised my
right hand and gingerly allowed my fingers to lift the underside of
his pulsating organ. How hot it was—like a dinner roll fresh from
the oven. And how hard and stiff it stood out—like the handle on a
frying pan. It almost felt as though he could be lifted by that
sturdy appendage.

Flash.

More instructions. The nude man turned back
around, and Nanette inched closer, her mouth opening.

Oh, shit! She just put his dick in her
mouth! She's sucking his dick! And he's… Oh, fuck! His left hand's
squeezing my right tit! What the…? This isn't erotica! It's
pornography!

I slapped away his groping hand and leapt
from the couch. A second later, I was putting on my clothes at
what, for me, must have been record speed. The others in the room
were clamoring words to which I paid no attention. I wanted only
two things at that moment—to get dressed and get out.