Pin-Up

She allowed her hand to trace the edge of the black photo album. Bettie Page vamped on the emblem embossed into the leather. She couldn't decide which he would like better the pictures or the story behind them.

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She walked through the shopping district, putting off the inevitable stop at the grocery store. The early fall air reminded her of wintergreen peppermint. It had just the right mix of warm and cold with its mouth filling warmth and tantalizing cold waves with every inhalation. A mannequin beckoned from one of the boutiques. She pondered the outfit – a vintage dress of deep red silk.

Ten minutes later she was walking down the sidewalk with shopping bag in hand and the poor mannequin was left to hide behind some brown wrapping. To celebrate her new purchase, she decided to treat herself to a latte and took a detour towards the coffee shop. The line at the order counter was short. A young man leaned behind the Formica as two teenage girls tried to simultaneously flirt and order. Directly ahead of her stood a tall woman with short dark hair. Bettie Page vamped with a whip, peeking out from under the edge of her white t-shirt.

With a sigh of disgust, the woman turned and muttered under her breath, "God, were we really that silly when we were that age?"

She laughed and made a casual reply as she gave the woman a quick look. The woman was about her height and probably her age, with short cropped hair, Roy Orbison glasses and that tattoo.

"So, what's that?" The woman asked.

Silently, she pulled the red dress from the bag.

"Sweet!" the woman commented as she slid the fabric between thumb and forefinger. "You know, my studio is just a couple of blocks from here. A pic of you in that dress would be a nice surprise for boyfriend? Girlfriend?"

She laughed. "Maybe one of each." She raised her eyebrows in exclamation. "Would you really have the time?"

The photographer assured her the entire afternoon was open, as was a nice bottle of Grand Marnier. Both women laughed and coffees in hand walked down the sidewalk to Bettie Page Studios.

The studio stretched the length of the storefront. Painted bright white it glowed with afternoon sun spilling through the plate glass window. Cameras were scattered around the room, on tables, on tripods. Lights hung from the rafters and looked upwards from the floor.

"I do more formal stuff out here. We are going to the back studio. That's where the fun happens." The photographer smiled mischievously.

She followed the other woman down a dark hall. To the left, she noticed a kitchen and a small office. Stairs at the end of the hallway led to living quarters, so her hostess said. At the end of the hallway, through a brick archway, the photographer stopped and with a sweeping motion signaled her to enter.

Windows also lined one wall of this room, but the exposure was to the west and afternoon sunlight filtered by large trees cast deep shadows. Several furniture groups were set up as little vignettes. There was a white chaise lounge with a reading lamp in one corner, a dining table with a slate top and four black chairs sat on an exotic embroidered rug. Between two of the windows at the back, a four poster bed with its black satin spread and pile of pillows invited...something.

"What a wonderful studio," she had been here before, any number of times but today would be a first. They both knew it; it was the reason they neither one called the other by name.

"I have been doing a series of pin-up inspired photos most recently," the photographer said. As if to prove her legitimacy, she motioned to a row of prints, hung on a floor to ceiling bulletin board. "I think you and that red dress would be a lovely addition."

She leaned closer to examine the photographs as the woman spoke. They were amazing reproductions. Each of a different woman, vamping for the camera in dresses, hiked up to show stocking tops or bending to reveal breasts that threatened to fall from the precarious perch of a push up bra. As she turned to compliment the woman on her work, the photographer leaned forward and kissed her.

The woman's lips were soft and warm and tasted of coffee and cream. She closed her eyes and breathed deeply. Neither touched the other, save for their lips. She could smell the woman's perfume and wondered if her's was as pleasing. At last, the photographer stepped back offering a shot of Grand Marnier. The women clinked glasses and drank.

"I hope you don't mind. You have such a lovely mouth." She turned and walked to an equipment table and began to assemble a camera. "So, are you interested? I think we'll need two maybe three hours. I would like to shoot you on that chaise and if you're game, on the bed." The photographer winked.

"Well, I know this may sound predictable, but, I have never done anything like this before." She barely kept a straight face as she spoke. She held it together long enough for the photographer to turn and look her way, then both women broke into a gale of laughter.

"Yes, well, that's what the alcohol is for," the woman smiled and poured two more glasses of liqueur. "Now let's have a look at that red dress."

She walked behind a Japanese screen imprinted with doves and began to undress. T-shirt and jeans slipped off to reveal black and beige boy shorts and a matching bra.

"Very nice," the photographer leaned against the screen. "It's almost as if you knew you were coming here"

She smiled and turned to face the woman full on. Her breasts, supported by the thin fabric, rose with each breath. "I like to be prepared."

The photographer laughed. "Pull on the dress and let's start on the chaise."

She did as instructed. As she sat. The white velvet was cool against her bare legs. The woman knelt down and offered her a pair of red stilettos. Silently, she raised her left foot. The woman slipped the shoe on and held out the right. Again, she held up her foot and felt the soft leather as the shoe covered her skin. Then, slowly and still silently, the photographer slid her hand over her calf and past her knee.

She leaned back on her arms and looked to the ceiling as the strange fingers slid closer to her panties. Her legs were spread apart, shoes flat on the floor. Her back arched as the fingers tickled the lace at the edge of her thigh and she exhaled slowly.

"Perfect," the photographer whispered and quickly slipped her hand away. "Don't move."

The woman stood, then arranged the fabric of the red dress so it rose up over one thigh, the panties peeking out. "Tip your head back, and let your mouth fall open, like your waiting for...a drop of something to fall into it."

She sat, positioned on the chaise, and did not move. It was not easy, the woman's words and kiss and fingers had started something. She felt a tickle just inside those boy shorts. And with each click of the camera, she felt her nipples harden.

"Now, stand and straight legged, bend over the back of the couch." The photographer stayed behind the camera.

Again, she did as she was told. The photographer moved closer. Her fingers undid the first few buttons on the front of the dress and then they slipped inside her bra. She stood still as the woman gently lifted her breasts from their silky confines. Her nipples throbbed and the photographer deliberately grazed the back of her hand over the left. It jumped in response.

"Mmm," was all the woman said before moving behind and hiking the skirt up and over her ass to reveal the black and beige panties. She felt her clit clench in anticipation of that dangerous hand but it never arrived and she stood, her sex throbbing as the photographer returned to her cameras.

More clicking. More tingling. She felt her breath coming in shorter and shorter gasps.

"Now, lie back on the chaise." The photographer brought the tiny glasses of Grand Marnier with her and sat on the end of the couch.

"You know we didn't discuss price." She sat, back to the chaise, legs crossed.

"You are actually doing me a favor. I need two really good shots to finish up this show. All I'll need then will be your signature on the release. You get the finals." The photographer held her glass up.

"You're going to put these in a show?" she smiled. This is one gallery opening her husband might want to attend. The photographer nodded yes and they tapped glasses. The sweet orange liquid slipped down her throat and warmed her from the inside, making her head...and her inhibitions delightfully dizzy.

Slowly, she leaned back into the chaise and let her legs slide out in front, nudging the photographer from her perch on the edge of the couch.

The woman stood for a minute and looked her over, head to toe. She felt the woman's brown eyes focus first on her lips, which she parted slightly. Then they moved to her exposed breasts. Her nipples ached and she squeezed her arms together causing the flesh of her breasts to swell voluptuously.

The woman smiled and her eyes continued, gazing across her abdomen, covered with the silk of the dress before coming to a stop at the edge of the hem. The photographer raised her eyebrows in a question.

She didn't need to hear it aloud. Slowly, she took her hands and slid the fabric over her thighs to reveal pale soft flesh and gradually, her panties, now damp with unknown anticipation.

"What are you willing to do for the camera?" the woman asked. "I can just start taking pictures, if you like."

"Give me one more shot."

The photographer complied and asked again, "you like?"

She smiled and replied, "I like."

The photographer turned and moved to her camera. But this time, as the lens came into focus, she grasped each breast and squeezed. As her hands moved across her abdomen, she let her fingers draw the fabric up and over the top of her panties. At last, she took her right index finger and making a perfect 'o' with her lips, slipped the finger inside. Once moist, she slid it under the lace of her panties and again made that delightful 'o' as her body responded with tiny shutters of excitement.

She felt weight at the end of the chaise. Opening her eyes, she saw the photographer, hands clasped under her chin, kneeling in a pose at the far edge. The camera, unattended, continued to click as frame by frame, the woman crawled closer and closer until the woman knelt between her parted legs.

She leaned back and held out her hand to the woman. The photographer placed the fingers into her mouth all the while, keeping her eyes on her subject.

Breathing now in short gasps, she leaned back. The camera clicked happily as the photographer slid down to her belly and gently pulled the black and beige panties over her ass and down her legs. Dropping the panties to the floor, the woman returned to her study and cautiously leaned forward.

She held her breath, anticipating the first touch. It was excruciatingly gentle, nearly a whisper, as the photographer's tongue slipped against the tender flesh of her. Her mouth moved closer, each lick a little more firm until at last, it reached her clit. She exhaled and moaned.

The photographer continued to lick her, in time to the camera's clicking at first matching it lick for click. But eventually, the licking came quicker and her moans more frequent as the woman brought her closer and closer. At last, the licking almost frantic, she burst with an orgasm so strong she called out his name.

The photographer stopped then, laying her head against her thigh. Smiling at the camera she laughed. "We got that shot, doll. Time to change."

Her legs shaking, she followed the woman behind the Japanese screen. On a chair, she saw a ruffled white blouse, a pair of white anklet socks with little lace ruffles around the cuffs and a pair of black and white saddle shoes.

"Nothing else, just the shirt, socks and shoes. No bra, no panties." The photographer moved away and she slipped the dress off; pulled the new clothes on. Bare assed she walked across the room, her pussy aching with anticipation of what might happen next. Her bare breasts rubbed the sheer fabric of the blouse.

"Sit on the edge of the bed, legs apart." The photographer repositioned her camera, adjusted the lights. "Can you do this?"

Quietly, she thought for a few seconds then replied, "Yes."

With the camera snapping, the photographer slipped her jeans off and walked to the bed. She stopped, standing this time, again between her legs. "Do what you want."

Slowly, she raised her hands and touched the woman's breasts over her t-shirt. They were large and firm. Finding the nipples, she squeezed and felt her own respond. The photographer breathed quietly, leaned forward and offered a nipple. She took it in her mouth, allowing her tongue to lap at its firmness. She sucked and the woman sighed. She took the nipple in her teeth and the woman moaned.

Next, she let her fingers trace a line down the woman's abdomen and giggled when the photographer's pelvis shifted. She slipped her fingers into her mouth then deliberately slipped them between the woman's legs. Her pussy was soft and warm, hidden behind a layer of cool cotton. She smiled a devilish grin at the photographer, leaned in and with her teeth, pulled the panties half way down the woman's legs.

The photographer gasped and she liked how that sound made her feel, her own sex swollen and pulsing again. Leaning in, she let her tongue begin the slow licking motion the woman had used earlier. The first lick was a surprise. The woman was moist, her taste salty and sweet. Different from her man's taste yet nearly similar. She continued, licking deeper, quickly then slowly in that maddening way he used on her.

The photographer shifted again and she grasped the woman's hips, pulling her steady. She covered the other woman's sex with her mouth, sucking and tonguing. Techniques she was familiar with from a different angle. The photographer grasped the back of her head, pushing her firmly closer and she obliged, attacking her clit with the broad of her tongue. The woman cried out as the orgasm washed over her.

"Did we get that shot? I think he'll like that one" she sat back on the edge of the bed, all smiles. The photographer did not respond for several seconds.

"Yeah, I think we did. Now, let's give him one for the road." And with that the photographer had her move to the center of the bed. "Kneel, legs apart. Oh, and why not try this."

In the photographer's hand lay a crystal phallus. "I want some posed shots first, and then you can do what ever you like."

She took the organ. It was cold in her hands. She placed it against her cheeks, flushed from the last set of photographs. The glass chilled her skin, leaving a ghost sensation as she moved it away. The camera snapped as she held the phallus against her cheek again. She coyly held it like a lollypop and slid her tongue the length of its shaft. Another shot and she puckered her mouth and placed the crystal to her lips.

Moving the phallus down her body, she spread her legs more and arching her back, held the crystal dick at her opening. She began to smile but instead, made a pin-up 'o' with her mouth, slightly covering it with her left hand.

The photographer burst into gales of laughter. "That's it. That one's for the show! Now, finish him off, honey."

She laughed as she lay back on the satin bedspread. The photographer moved closer. Under the focused eye of the camera, she slipped the crystal inside. It was cold against the heat of her desiring flesh. Slowly, she pumped it in and out, surprised at how her body responded. Her breasts were full, her clit ached and her belly shivered and still, she moved the dick inside her.

At last, she could stand it no longer. With her left hand on the crystal, pumping inside her faster and faster, she began to finger her clit with the right. The waves crashed over her as she forgot the camera, the other woman's mouth and the taste of her's on the other woman. She cried out and fell exhausted in a heap on the satin bedspread; drifting off to sleep in a cloud of liqueur and satisfied contentment.

Voices from the front of the shop woke her gently. The camera sat silent on the bed table. She was alone in the room.

Discreetly, she placed the crystal phallus on the table next to the camera and quickly, she stepped behind the screen and pulled her clothes back on. As she walked towards the front of the shop and the voices, she wondered if the past few hours showed on her face.

The photographer sat at a desk with a young couple. Wedding photos of the two were scattered across the desk, the young woman critiquing her figure in each one. The photographer looked up, "If you'll excuse me?"

The woman stood and met her at the door. "I'll have the proofs for you in a week. We can make some choices then, say Wednesday afternoon?"

"Or, you can bring them to dinner on Friday. Pete said you were both free." She stepped outside. "You won't show him until I get our copies, right?'

"Of course not. I know how those two guys compare notes. Let's keep these quiet until they are finished." The photographer laughed.

"See you on Wednesday then. Bye Bettie. Give Pete my best." She laughed as she considered just how Bettie might do just that.

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Dinner had been a success. They always had such a good time with Bettie and Pete. She picked up the photo album and walked from the office. He was waiting in the bedroom and it was time for some dessert.