Letter to a Photographer

I may only be 19, but I know when a guy is turned on.

You contacted me on MySpace because you were seeking a local glamour model. I'm not a skinny fashion model, and no doubt my photos excited you. How could you resist my long tan legs and tall high heels, my luscious ass, my succulent 36C breasts in silky bikinis and lace bras - and, of course, the cum-hither smile on my naughty lips?

You wrote that my hair looked hot. It works well this way, cut in a medium bob with bangs. The retro-ness of the style is modernized by the fact that I bleach my dark red hair blonde on the outside layer. Depending on how I wear it I can look like a society girl or a trailer park princess, to anything in between.

Your goal for the shoot was to make the cover of a plumbing supply company catalog, and you asked if I was interested in posing with various kinds of pipe and tools. There'd be no nude shots, but possibly implied nudity. After viewing your web portfolio and seeing how you photographed other sexy young models - some topless, one of them tied up - I couldn't say no.

I called you to ask some questions, like what kind of clothes and shoes I should have, and whether you had a makeup artist. Your voice was unexpectedly sexy, yet genuine and comforting. I felt like I could trust you and I immediately wanted to impress you with my best work. I gladly accepted the job.

After we agreed on the details of the shoot and set a date, I kept imagining what you looked like. Were you tall and dark? Did you have fair skin? Was your hair long or short? Were you young? Middle age?

Did you have rough or soft hands? Was your cock hard when I described the sumptuous clothing and lingerie I had? Did you want to jack off when I said I love wearing leather boots and high heels?

Judging by the sound of your voice you liked what you heard. I bet you anticipated me modeling for you as much as I anticipated doing it!

The day of our shoot finally arrived. I was a bit nervous, but I prepared like a professional. I shaved my legs and bikini area the day before to minimize razor burn, drank plenty of water, and used lots of moisturizer all over my body. I had a pedi and a mani, and I didn't wear socks or underwear to insure against lines on my supple skin. My hair and face were made up and I arrived a little early, suitcase and makeup bag in hand.

You appeared in the lobby of your small studio when you heard the door chime. I was impressed as you shook my hand, as much by your soft blue eyes as by your fit build.

"Thanks for coming, Stephanie," you said warmly. Your eyes sparkled.

"It's good to meet you, Steve," I replied, assessing you from your short blonde hair to your crotch. You looked pretty good as you cheerfully pointed out the dressing room and bathroom, as well as the refrigerator that holds snacks and bottled water.

"Help yourself to whatever's in there, except the wine and beer," you said with a laugh.

"I've got a fake ID!" I declared, checking out your butt as I followed you back toward the studio.

"In that case, it's all yours," you joked as you led me down a short hallway. I noticed your wedding ring as we passed portraits of you and your family on the wall. Your wife was gorgeous - red-haired with big tits and a bright smile.

We stopped amidst the lights and other equipment and you asked to see my clothes. I knelt beside you and unzipped my suitcase, feeling your eyes on me as my shirt collar opened enough to expose my tits. You stood close and I was aware that your cock was close to my face.

I held up combinations of bikinis, bras, panties, lingerie, shoes, and boots for your approval, showing off my wardrobe until you selected a skimpy red bikini and glossy red pumps with open toes.

"You can use the changing room while I get things ready here," you suggested.

Closing the door behind me I thanked my luck. While there's often some sexual tension during a shoot, it's usually on the part of the guy. This time I had a photographer who I wanted to perform for. I sensed this would lead to some pretty hot shots, and because you were older and married I didn't worry about you pursuing me.

As I snapped on my bikini top and slipped into those four inch heels, I geared myself up to get you as excited as possible.

Back in the studio you guided me to the set, which consisted of a black backdrop and a large metal pipe wedged between the floor and ceiling. The pipe wasn't straight, though. It had a bend in it like an "s" turned on its side, forming a sort of seat. In fact, that's how you directed me to use it.

"Let's do some warm-up shots and get comfortable, okay?" you said soothingly. You motioned for to me sit on the curve of the pipe, and when my ass touched the cool metal I slid my smooth cheeks side to side to warm it up.

"That's great," you encouraged me, your large digital camera clicking away. "Put your hands behind you and keep doing that."

I placed my palms on my lower back and gazed at you through the camera lens, varying my head position and the angle of my shapely legs as I rubbed my ass around the pipe.

"Very nice," you whispered.

I knew I was having an affect on you. I held the camera lens with my eyes and opened my mouth a bit, my glistening tongue poised behind my straight white teeth. As you focused and snapped, I noticed the growing outline of your cock against your pants. My pussy started tingling when I realized you weren't wearing underwear.

A few shots later you paused, then instructed me to sit on the pipe, facing the backdrop and looking over my shoulders. I did so, with my legs spread slightly, staring at you through the camera as you captured me frame by frame. You asked me to smile big and toss my hair around to show the contrast between my blonde and brunette layers. After a few attempts I asked how it looked.

"Pretty cool. Take a look," you said, coming to stand beside me so I could see the shots.

I complimented the photos, though the way your cock stood out distracted me. My guy friends say that some men jack off to my pictures, and I sensed that you would, too. I had the urge to slide my hand down your waistband and wrap my fingers around your cock. Instead I acted as if nothing was happening, but I felt the heat coming off of you. You went back to your shooting position and suggested I grip the vertical section of the pipe while putting one foot up on the curved part. I had to stretch but I did it easily, and when you knelt down in front of me to snap a few shots you praised my flexibility.

"Thank you," I replied demurely, puckering my lips.

"Your legs are fantastic," you said. I gradually moved my leg outward and slid one hand slowly across my thigh.

"Nice thighs," you added.

"They're soft," I said quietly, peeking at your boner.

"Looks like it," mumbled with a grin, clicking away.

The pose made the fabric of my bikini pull tight against my pussy. I knew you could see every contour of my cunt, and the thought of it caused a burst of wetness inside me. My fingers roamed over my leg from hip to ankle while I gave you the "bedroom eyes".

You silently moved closer, but your prominent hard-on spoke volumes.

As I touched myself I began to imagine you touching me. Touching is taboo in this business, but you were so calm and cool even as your erect cock betrayed you. You didn't show any reaction when I cinched my bikini up tighter, causing the thin red fabric to slip between my smooth shaven pussy lips. You simply laid on your side, propped on one elbow, and continued shooting me from the floor.

"Awesome, Stephanie," you muttered from behind the camera, surely zooming in on my tight little pussy. "This will move some catalogs."

"Think so?" I asked innocently, caressing my inner thigh. "Will it move pipes and tools, too?"

"Oh yeah," you sighed below me.

Your swollen cock was producing quite a tent as you lay there, and the sight of it - knowing you were throbbing and aching because of me - made me want to get off. I couldn't possibly do that, so I removed my foot from the pipe and straddled it, pressing my pussy on it in hopes that the metal would cool my clit and return me to my senses.

But then you stopped shooting and instructed me to grip the pipe with both hands and arch my back, and when I did the threads on the pipe rubbed my pussy in just the right spot. I closed my eyes as a jolt of pleasure pulsed through my pussy. My reaction was obvious, and I accepted that I couldn't hide my excitement any more than you could.

"That's good," you said, snapping away. "Keep doing that."

I squinted under the studio lights, watching you as you changed positions, rocking my hips and rubbing my sensitive clit along the pipe. I felt safe with you, understanding that I was your special model. I threw my head back and closed my eyes, picturing what your naked cock might look like if you released it and stroked it for me.

"Very hot, Stephanie," you commented.

As the sensations emanating from my clit got more intense I heard you move closer. I opened my eyes in time to catch you adjusting your cock so that it stood upright inside your pants. You gave me a shy smile, but I was glad you relieved the pressure. I rose up and down and slid my crotch over the pipe, no longer hiding my desire for your dick as I begged with my eyes for you to pull it out.

"Wonderful, Stephanie," you said, camera clicking. "Now let's stick that ass out some more."

I complied and pushed my curvy ass out for you, scooting back and pushing my pussy against the pipe as if I were gliding along a juicy cock.

"Like this?" I asked, increasing the friction on my clit by undulating my hips in short, quick motions.

"Yes. Very good job," you answered, your face hidden by your camera but the bulge of your cock clearly visible next to your zipper.

"I always do good jobs," I said suggestively, my smoldering eyes pleading for your cock. "I want to do a good job for you."

You moved before me, the camera shutter clicking away.

"What jobs are you good at, Stephanie?" you wanted to know. Click.

"Lots of jobs," I groaned, shutting my eyes, grinding my pussy harder on the pipe.

"Like?" you pressed. Click.

"Blowjobs," I answered, slightly ashamed. "Sucking cock."

"Even married men?" you wondered.

I moaned in frustration.

"Blowjobs aren't cheating," I complained, gazing at your crotch. Click.

"Hmmm," you responded. "Play with your breasts now, Stephanie."

I slipped a hand under my bikini top and massaged my tits, rolling my nipples between my fingers until they hardened into obscene little points.

"Excellent," you whispered. "What other jobs do you do?"

Click, click.

"Handjobs," I quietly answered, tweaking my nipples till they burned. "S-stroking cocks."

Click.

"A handjob isn't cheating," I added.

Click, click.

"Would you stroke me in front of my wife?" you asked. I looked into your eyes.

"God yes," I whined. "I'd stroke your dick till you came all over our tits."

Clickclickclick.

I was flushed and sweating as I fondled myself and bared my thoughts to you, bathed in the heat of the studio lights, desperate to see your cock as you watched me get off on that pipe. If only you'd take out your cock and give it to me, I thought, I'd be soooo good to it. But I couldn't say that, so I grunted with lust as I punished my pussy on the unyielding pipe.

Click, click.

"What do you really want, Stephanie?" you asked. I rubbed my pussy faster and had one answer.

"Cock," I whispered plaintively, grinding my pussy harder. "Your cock..."

Click.

"What would you do with it?"

"I'd get on my knees and suck it and put it in my throat," I blurted out, revealing what was in my mind as the ripples of pleasure between my legs turned into small waves.

Click.

"Go on," you urged.

"I'd taste it, your hard cock on my tongue," I said breathlessly. I bounced on the pipe like a slut as my orgasm gathered steam.

"I want your balls in my hands," I hissed, barely able to speak. "I want your cock hot and deep in my mouth until you cum on my face."

In the throes of my torrid talk and dirty display I realized you weren't taking pictures anymore. I opened my eyes and there you were, perched on a stool with your arms crossed and your long hard dick sticking out through your zipper.

"Look at it, Stephanie," you said. "Look at it as you come."

"Let me hold it," I begged, but you didn't move.

"Imagine sitting on it, Steph. Rub your pussy all over the cock," you told me.

And I did, admiring the slight curve of your hardness as I pretended that the pipe beneath my sopping pussy was actually your cock. I gazed in adoration at that rigid pole between your legs and imagined you walking behind me and burying it deep inside my juicy cunt.

I moaned and thrust my hips back and forth, hoping you'd at least hold your cock and stroke it while I watched. I muttered "please please please" to you and focused on your throbbing flesh, and when you wrapped your thumb and index finger around the base of your dick I came suddenly and explosively, soaking my bikini with slippery juices as you tucked the cock I craved back into your pants.

I stood and leaned forward to rest my head against the pipe. My knees shook. I didn't want to open my eyes and let reality in, but I turned to look at you when you approached. You smiled sweetly.

"I'd love to take some more shots, Stephanie," you said.

"Really?" I asked, thinking you might throw me out.

"Definitely," you answered, handing me a towel. "But let me call my wife first....to assist me."

As you dialed your cell phone I gratefully took the towel.