The Seduction of Jade Ch. 08

It didn't help my psyche much either that, right after the incident with Alexis was over, there was no real way to find her again to talk. I still had a store to run. I had to get ready for the biggest day in the toy and sex store universe: Valentine's Day.

By now, anyone of us, who have ever once been in any kind of relationship, knows that this fucking day is no different than the other three-hundred-and-sixty-four days that came before it. If we lived on a damn deserted isle, with no calendar of any kind to reference, holy hell, ninety nine percent of the human population wouldn't by able to tell when this shite holiday was year to year. Unless... there was a partner that needed senseless affirmation that he or she was loved by said other partner on the hook to spend money they didn't have on cheap shite they most likely didn't know what it was for in the first asinine place to begin with.

Or, wipe out a flower field in the name of something heartfelt, but in reality it was an attempt to curry just enough favor to get some ass while the victim of your horniness was dying a slow death in a cheap vase. It all ironically started the minute one dumb bastard placed the order of roses for what an over-inflated florist charged just to show how much the hormonal, lovesick dumbass cares.

Never mind the fact he or she pays the bills, helps to raise their kids, and doesn't say a word until their prostate or ovaries is/are about ready to explode because he/she's too fucking busy paying for more plastic surgery that his or her spouse is using to seduce the new guy at their Zumba class with.

On the other hand, it's an a-fucking-fantastic time for booking women's boudoir shoots to spice things up for themselves, the little hot milf's I mean. And not all boudoir photographers are the same either. I'll give you two examples. Before you plop down a security deposit, ask to see their previous work. If those don't impress you, walk away. What you're looking at is his or her "best" snaps. And chances are they won't be any better with yours.

The other is what they charge and what services are included for the money. I, a year or so ago, had someone ask me to look at a session they just received from their photographer at the time. I was stunned at what I saw. They were dark, uninspiring, bland, and didn't convey that sense of sexual tension that should be in a bedroom style shoot. The woman that booked and shot the session I'm sure did her best.

However, when you get told their normal rate is eight hundred dollars but for you this one time, they'll do it for two... maybe you should go somewhere else. They're desperate, not very good, or you're going to be a part of their growing pains. Regardless of how the house of cards falls, you're out of some cash for some photos even your special someone would be less then impressed with. So, go with someone that has experience, a portfolio, and if he or she is good expect good results for good money.

Now you might have started to wonder why I basically just put an ad in my own memoir for good and great photographers everywhere. Pretty simple actually, right about the time I was ready to beat customers over the head with a life like John Holmes cock to AC/DC's Thunderstruck for being more obnoxious than necessary, the woman that wanted my opinion on her boudoir shoot called me out of the blue. She had seen me post somewhere online that I was working out again finally and wanted to know if I needed a workout partner.

Angel, a very petite, early thirties, mother of three, was a gorgeous woman that just so happened to also be a ballerina turned instructor at the Indy Ballet. Her fierce blue-green eyes, multicolored shoulder length hair, and dancer's body that was still there even after the kids, was somebody I had admired from the very first time I met her. Also being a dog lover of Sheps of any kind, added many points to the cool chick score. No nonsense, but still had a crooked sense of humor, allowed us to get along pretty well.

When she had felt good enough to show me her photos to get my take on them, I was touched. Might be why I went a tad harsh on the critique of the photographer for fucking up her entire shoot, but I digress. We had brainstormed on how I would have done her shoot, and I had left her an open invitation to try a second shoot. I wanted a crack at showing her how the concept was supposed to be a steamy, sultry vibe for a boudoir session.

Her going back to the gym, I found out later, was an effort to get ready for that little walk on the wild side and to let out some pent up steam. When we got together to work out, I found out that she and her husband had recently started a separation, and the reasons behind it were pretty understandable even without buying a program to keep up with a few of the more juicy, jaw dropping events. In the things I heard within that hour and a half of praying to the metal gods, even I had a different take on her life.

Ever have your opinion of someone change when you hear a few intimate stories you don't see blasted out on social media? Yeah, mine didn't change on her all that much. I just realized that even the most awesome put together people; deal with bullshit in their personal lives. The general public wouldn't have a clue how deep the shit is they might be dealing with on any given day. But Angel was a trooper and if anyone would ever make her cry again, not even her dogs would be able to help find the bodies. I mean, you know, theoretically speaking. So, we kind of finalized a workout schedule to finish getting her ready for the shoot, and I got excited to work with another wonderful person.

* * *

About two months later, I got the call from Angel. She was in her peak conditioning and wanted to go for the session that would light a fire in the groins of any man that swung that way. I was more then ready for the news. With a slight grin of anticipation I rented an Air B-n-B kind of deal for a spectacular set location just outside of Indianapolis, in Castleton. It was a horse farm that was simply beautiful from the impeccably kept colonial style house to picturesque grazing fields with a barn. I knew the owners from doing photos of their talented daughter and feisty jumper, Gunner. The family was gone for a few weeks to buy a new stud and compete in a few competitions. Everything was set and ready to go for the following Saturday. Even though I've grown wise enough now not to question some things, anyone else ever get a little strange when plans progress on a smooth course?

Yeah, the god of destiny likes to make fools of us all. The night before Angel's shoot, I get a text from a number not in my phone out of the blue. It happens quite a bit but I knew this one was going to mess with my head.

Unknown number: "Hey! I'll take one of those shirts!"

Me: "Oh? Which shirt is that?"

Unknown number: "The 'F*ck Your Feelings' one!"

Ah. I had made a joke post somewhere that I wanted to jump into the fashion-political t-shirt business just in case the whole photographer thing didn't work out. And not only had Jade seen the post but she also made the effort to contact me over it. That's right; it was the one woman on this planet that I wanted still. Even with the way that last phone call went; I still wanted to have her in my orbit. I also hated how happy the text exchange made me. There was the part of me that knew it was only temporary and the other half of me didn't care.

After the messages stopped, I tried to get some sleep for the shoot coming up in a matter of hours. There wasn't much success on that front. Questions I wasn't going to get the answers to wouldn't die in peace. Finally the alarm went off as if to say your bail got posted, get up. Like a zombie I got ready and headed out the door.

* * *

I arrived at the rented house earlier then Angel. Arranging it that way was no problem, because I wanted to get a feel for all of the great spots to pose, shoot, etc and to set up the lights in the master bedroom. It was the main point of preproduction. It was still a boudoir session and potential marketing aid at its heart after all. If we had the right mojo, there were even some horses out in the barn that weren't out of the realm of maybe making a cameo appearance in a snap or two. I know it's been done, but Angel on a huge quarter horse as petite as she was really had potential to get a wonderful capture.

Just after I finally finished with the light rig in the bedroom, a car pulled into the driveway and a figure headed up to the house. I went downstairs and met my little dancer at the door. The cute tank top, baggy Capri pants, trucker's cap, and Chucks she had on looked like she stepped straight out of a Tony Hawk game. She looked as hot standing there in normal clothes as I hoped she would be mostly naked if front of the camera. The comical size of the bag she carried only added to the visual sight of her standing there. "Well, are you gonna invite me in and take this heavy ass bag or not, punk?"

Laughing, I gladly took the bag as big as the model herself and had her follow me back upstairs after I shut the door. When we reached the master suite, I showed her the bathroom and let her do her thing to get ready. If she needed anything to just yell for me. I was still obsessing over a light that wasn't perfect. You would think for as long as I had done this whole photography thing I would be able to just setup, click the shutter, and roll out without so much as a second thought about things. Alas, I've never been that lucky as much as my portfolio may show otherwise.

In the middle of my internal struggle to not redo the whole light rig for a third time, I heard the click of the bathroom door handle turning and door opening into the master bedroom. The view that met my eyes was nothing short of breathtaking. Out stepped a five foot three, toned athlete sporting a cute new pixie cut that perfectly framed her eyes. She had on a sheer white button up shirt that only had one position utilized at breast level. A very small thong that matched the shirt was the only other garment worn.

Now, I'm not a big fan of models doing their own makeup, but her's was on point from the smoky eyes to the perfect color on her lips. She was simply stunning. "How'd I do, Mr. Photographer?"

After a very professional once over, I had to be honest. "You look great! I'm not ashamed to say I think you missed your true calling in life."

Amused, she pulled a very expensive bottle of vodka out of her bag. "Quit sucking up and be a dear. Find a glass or two will you? I need a little liquid courage to help me through this shoot. I'm already nervous to not be up to your expectations and I feel out of place all glammed up like this."

"For my gorgeously adventurous friend, I will do as you have so nicely requested. The fact I'm sucker for Belvedere doesn't mean anything. Hold on, I'll be right back." And so my quest to find two glasses started with urgency. Finding two nice tumblers in the kitchen fulfilled my mission and I headed back upstairs humming to myself. When I entered the bedroom I had to stop for a minute and take in the view.

Angel was on the bed, sitting against the headboard hugging one knee to her chest with the other laying straight in front of her, bottle in hand, impatiently waiting for said glasses. "Your glass as you requested, my pushy Queen."

"It's about time! I was about to make a complaint with the manager of this side show." Grabbing her glass gracefully, she poured a drink for both of us. Again, I don't normally drink onsite at a shoot. But when your client insists that you accompany her, you do what you have to do to make them happy, right? I hadn't had a taste of Belvedere in quite some time and rather slowly drank it to appreciate the dark science that came from that bottle. Only after I had said my goodbyes to the clear nectar of the gods did I notice she had downed her double and was working on a second.

I couldn't help to think I didn't want to have to take the flush out of her face in Photoshop if she keeps going. Much to the relief of my inner perfectionist, she put down the glass and bottle on the night stand next to the bed. "Ok, Mr. Photographer, let's do this!" Those were the words I had wanted to hear for a few months now.

My camera was primed, ready, and appeared in my hands like magic. The first few takes were to make sure everything was working as planned, and it went off without a hitch. She was sensuality embodied in front of lens. The more the camera made noise, the more comfortable she became on the bed. After about fifteen to twenty different photos, I suggested that she go ahead and change into the second outfit we had agreed on after posing quite seductively for me.

If she looked better in the next outfit then she did with her long legs on the wall, head towards the foot of the bed, white shirt just barely on, and the line of sight ending just shy of the womanly curve of her pelvis covered by the form fitted panties, I was going to have real trouble hiding the awakened erection coming to life in my pants. With a laugh, she sprung up from the bed and took a shot directly from the bottle before disappearing into the other room to change.

It didn't take long for her to return. She had changed into a deep emerald nightgown that clung to her impressive body. The bottom of the lingerie stopped just below her thighs so I couldn't see if the set matched, but it wasn't a problem. The only clue to her having had children was she had hips now but they only added to her mature allure. She took another long drink from the bottle of Belvedere after sitting on the bed.

I could tell by this point she was more then a little tipsy. I had a decent buzz going after throwing back the third glass she poured me. "I have an idea that I want you to use," she suddenly and somewhat shyly said.

"Oh? And what might that be my little ballerina?" Intrigued, I couldn't help but wonder in the back of my mind what might be headed my way. She crawled to the edge of the bed where her bag was and rummaged through it until she found her goal. Out came a decent length of silk cord and a blindfold that was matched to color of her lingerie perfectly. She took another quick sip from the quickly dissipating bottle of vodka and after mustering her courage said, "I want you to tie me up, or at least my hands, and blindfold me. I want photos that will melt your camera."

It was at this point that the professional in me should have stepped back and correctly diagnosed the situation as probably one that was about to jump the tracks. Call it being a little drunk myself, or even blame it on the now huge erection I had, either way I decided I was going to ride this train to the very end. And I had to make the client happy, didn't I?

I had her lean back on some pillows against the very stylish old style headboard and started to wrap the silk cord around one of her hands above her head. "Put the blindfold on me first. I want to feel it more then watch it happen." So, I did my best to do as she asked without messing her hair or makeup up too much. I wasn't sure how far she wanted me to go with this so I didn't put in too much effort to make the cord tight. And I was chastised for the lack of effort, "No, do it tighter, I want to be tied like it was for real not loosely, barely bound."

I must say, a woman that knows what she wants and not afraid to say it is a rare flower that should be cherished. Sure, the added spirits might have been able to grease the gears, but the result was the same. I've always heard that the three types of people that tell the truth are kids, those with an axe to grind, or the inebriated. So, I started over with a knot pattern I had been looking forward to using that wasn't aesthetically horrible but yet strong enough to keep her in place safely. With the way her arms were tied above her head, it gave her back a natural arch. She moved one knee up to her as I was backing away and I realized she wasn't wearing underwear.

Her smooth, clean shaven lips glistened slightly when one of the lights would shine over them. I know the term milf is a fairly recent term, and one that I had usually rolled my eyes at too, but right here, right now, not only did I not hate the word, I was a fan. I could feel my resolution to staying as professional as possible draining away the longer I stared at her. I did the only thing that could save me. I grabbed the familiar grip on my Canon and started shooting to my heart's content. She could still hear the lens make noise while shooting and would move her legs and body to utilize this pose as much as possible.

And then I saw her bite her lip and I knew I was in trouble. "Derrick, unbutton me and make the pictures even naughtier." I was a bit more excited and slightly shocked she was getting this bold with the shoot. I put my camera down so I had my hands free to comply with her request. There were only four buttons down the front holding things together and the straps where made to unhook if the person wearing it so desired. Everything was fine until my hand brushed what had to have been a very sensitive nipple, to which I heard a very soft and quiet moan escape her lips. The top came off completely when she wiggled out of it and all that was left was one toned, petite, sensual, naked woman tied and blindfolded in front of me lying on a bed.

Heaven is different things to different people, and this was about as close as I think I might ever get to it myself. Again, camera in hand, I start shooting her for all I was worth. I'm not even sure how many photos I took at the time before her voice broke through my devotion to capturing her body on "film". "Hey, help a girl out, hmm?"

"Huh?" My wonderful response shamed every male friend that's ever seen my lifestyle or love life and wondered how I ever managed to get intimate with any women, ever. "I mean, sorry, sure. What's up?"

"I'm a lil' thirsty. Give me a bit more of that vodka, will ya?" After my brain finally registered what she wanted I responded while moving to her, "Let me untie you."

"No. I don't want that. Just give it to me yourself." I was still not quite clear what I was supposed to do here. "But there's no straw, I don't want you to choke if I give it to you to quickly." I mean, hey, her makeup still looked really good and I figured her lips would need touched up some if she drank from the glass. With the most bewitching giggle I have ever heard, she crossed and uncrossed her legs next to me.

"Derrick, use that wonderful mouth of yours. Take as much as you can without swallowing, bring it to my mouth, and for fuck sake, kiss me all fucking ready, ok darlin'?" And that's when it all clicked in my head. This was all a planned, more or less, grand role-play. Yes, the photos I had taken were for real, but the premise of the shoot itself was the setup. I never saw it coming. It was a nasty curveball when I was expecting a hanging fastball down the middle of the plate.

The novelty of the experience up until this point wasn't lost on me. I was getting worked up as the shoot went on thinking that I couldn't let things get messy. And wanting something badly and not getting it they say is a good way for growth. Yeah, I think its bullshit too, but I was clinging to that little nugget of wisdom for all it was worth. That is until I got told to shotgun 90 proof vodka down a very enticing mouth. At that point, all bets were off.

And seeing how she gave me the green light I did exactly what she asked. I took a personal swig from the bottle for good measure before I more or less emptied the remainder of the vodka bottle into my mouth. Then I leaned over, gently grabbed hold of her chin, and brought my mouth to hers. Our lips touched with a spark of electricity running down my back. My tongue slowly slipped out to find an opening for my payload to be given a new temporary home and her mouth opened willingly to take it.