Two, Three, Four or More Pt. 04

Josie drove me to the venue for the party. She did not plan to drink but saw no reason why I shouldn't enjoy myself once I had done the job required of me. She had been transformed from the forlorn, jilted woman I had met six months before. Now she was a confident organiser. She did nothing to hide her satisfaction with our relationship, but what had started promisingly as mutual support was now gradually turning purely physical. In the process I had accepted another woman into our bed and lost my moral sense of propriety along the way.

That was purely my own doing and not the fault of Josie. It felt wrong in the cold light of day, but it was highly enjoyable at the time.

I couldn't understand, though, how Josie could throw other women into my path. It was almost as if she was showing off a prized puppy. I was feeling increasingly certain that she knew our affair was coming to an end. Her husband was pleading for forgiveness and could soon be competition I could do without. If he moved back in, I would make myself scarce. I wouldn't want to break up a marriage, no matter how fractured it might be.

The venue for the calendar shoot party turned out to be a huge manor house in leafy Berkshire. It was exceptionally grand and impressive, set in spacious grounds. It was probably early 19th Century in origin with extensive, sensitive modern additions. Knowing that this was a private home gave me palpitations. What sort of people needed a house that big? I wasn't used to mixing in such wealthy circles. I wondered what the owner was like? Josie told me who he was. Of course, I had read about him, a Middle Eastern multi-millionaire, some sort of Sheikh, I supposed; not so impressive perhaps today, with the growth of billionaires. Yet, still, imbued with all the power and influence that money brings.

The door was opened as we alighted the car, by a strikingly attractive lady with equally striking, dark hair, middle eastern features, and a golden tone to her skin. She was wearing a tasteful full-length, navy blue and gold kaftan which flowed gracefully along the curved lines of her body. I recognised her face immediately which, once seen could never be forgotten. She had figured in celebrity gossip columns, but more for her benefactions than her transgressions. She was the Middle Eastern businessman's wife. My uneasiness grew. These sorts of places were the private preserves of the rich and powerful, almost outside the law by which us ordinary mortals were ruled.

"Hello, Henry, pleased to meet you. My name is Aleysha. Thank you for coming early. Alana is here, fussing around with the sets in the ballroom, but we don't expect the others for another hour.

"I was surprised when Alana suggested a man as the photographer. That will alarm some of the women, who we decided not to warn in advance.

"We are expecting your absolute discretion. Agreed?"

I was only half listening. She had remarkable features which turned a striking face into a beautiful one. Her eyes were large almond shapes, and a deep blue. Her lips were generous and highlighted by pink lip gloss. She wore little make-up but then she didn't need it to enhance her natural beauty. I mentally compared her against Josie, who was the prettiest woman I had ever met up to then. It was a tough choice to make and perhaps unfair, for Aleysha was ten years younger.

She studied my eyes closely as she waited for my answer.

"Yes, of course, I will treat everything I see here with the utmost discretion."

Satisfied with what she saw, she smiled and nodded, and led the way into the house. The main entrance hall was a spectacular double height atrium with tall windows letting in light from the South. But I was more impressed with Aleysha's layout than that of the house. It was apparent that beneath that conservative outfit was a body that held great eastern promise. It was enhanced by her graceful movements which allowed the lightweight dress material to cling to her gentle, graceful curves, and hinted at the hidden treasures subtly suggested beneath. It was unfair on me to consider her as just a trophy wife, though she fulfilled all the physical requirements.

Her husband had a passion for racehorses, and had set up home in the Home Counties to indulge that passion. Close to Ascot the location of the famous racecourse, and a few minutes drive from Windsor, he could indulge his passion with like-minded Royals.

With his wealth the businessman could probably have chosen any woman he desired so, no, it was no surprise that I was appraising his stunning acquisition. Yet she was reputed to have brains as well as beauty, and had established her own range of conservative women's fashions, whilst also engaging with local community good causes.

She turned back and spotted my appraising eye. I saw a brief frown cross her face, but then she smiled, as if she were changing her mind.

"I am unused to having a strange man at close quarters in my house. And, no, Henry, this is not my costume. This is how I normally like to dress at home. Tonight will be something of a departure for me. I have to tell you that I am quite nervous. You will have to inspire me with confidence."

Her English was impeccable and spoken with the particular care exercised by someone of education and refinement for whom it was their second tongue.

She showed Josie and me through to the ballroom, then went off to prepare herself. Two ladies in maids' uniforms kept discreetly out of the way. It seemed that I was likely to be the only male in the building, if all the staff on hand were women. This was intended to be a ladies' only evening, so what was I doing there?

Aleysha's departure left me feeling strangely bereft, as if I could not bear to be without her. It was an odd feeling to have, about someone I had only just met. Her physical presence carried with it an irresistible allure.

Two thirds of the ballroom had been allocated to the photography. Large wheeled screens in single pastel colours were positioned around the allocated space. That would allow foreground objects to be photoshopped in later, behind the live subject. Potted palms, a chaise long, sundry other furnishings and props were stored in the centre to be used for individual shoots. A red Yamaha motorcycle and matching helmet held pride of place. But in the centre along one wall was a large , sumptuously decorated Christmas tree whose lights were already ablaze.

There were three lighting rigs on low-lying trolleys which could be wheeled from one location to another. No expense had been spared on the equipment. Alana had done her homework to make this venture work, but it was quite clear who was funding the event.

Then there was the party end of the room, decked out with sofas, rugs, cushions and disco lighting. A portable bar had been set up with an array of drinks. A large video screen was already alive with a muted music video playing. These ladies were clearly intending to have fun whilst they waited their turns to pose for their calendar piece. My mind posed the unhelpful question at this juncture, why would these ladies, who discreetly kept out of plain sight, want to publish a calendar which might draw attention to them?

Alana was at the centre of all this, holding a clipboard and making notes of available props and subjects' names. She wore a voluminous, full-length, sack-like shift which billowed as she bustled around. I stepped into to help with any moving of props, and asked her what the calendar was for.

"It's for a good local cause. Aleysha will explain. She has many business contacts who can help to sell it to an exclusive clientele, for a premium price."

She switched to organiser mode and beamed at Josie and me.

"Darlings, thank you for coming so early. Thank you especially, J, for bringing our David Bailey. I'm excited by the arrangements. I just hope it goes well."

I mentally thanked her grudgingly for likening me to an eighty-year-old, but I hoped that I could summon up a similar flair.

"Now would you mind, Josie, if we did some test shots of you in your outfit before the others arrive? Go off with one of the ladies and come back in, say, about twenty minutes?"

Josie nodded and was led away to a bedroom, her outfit bag slung over her shoulder. I smiled as I noted just how under-filled it looked. Her outfit would not be taking up much space.

Josie efficiently disposed of, Alana beamed. "Good, whilst she's out of the way, take a few test shots of me against a blue background. We'll have to be quick. I'm going to be Miss December, by the way."

"OK, what sort of shot?"

"Normal lens, general body shots. I've set the camera for internal shots so try to avoid too much camera shake. Use the tripod if you can."

I selected a camera with the standard lens and waited my cue. Alana had carefully lit the illuminated the Christmas tree to ensure that its fairy lights would show well in the picture. The tree was standing on a richly coloured rug, with festively wrapped parcels around it. Trust Alana to reserve the most elaborate set in the room for herself. She saw my look and explained,

"This one needs more props -- for December! It's not so easy to fake with photographic studio tricks. It will help to cheer up the room for the festivities.

"I want you to shoot me now, before the others arrive, whilst my costume is still fresh. It will be our secret -- the pièce de la resistance, the climax of the year. It will also help me for you to shoot it before my make-up is spoiled. The maids will give us fifteen minutes' peace before any new arrivals will be let in."

I studied her face, which looked good to me. Her makeup had been applied very skilfully.

She waited impatiently whilst I set up the camera, and she dismissed my suggestion to use a light meter. "Why would I supply a top of the range camera then go back to the stone age to check the lighting? OK, ready? Set that video camera on the stand there running. Point it at that lit area."

She looked nervous. The reason for her agitation soon became obvious when she lifted the sack-like cover off her head and revealed her outfit. She giggled as my eyes opened up like flying saucers. "I had an artist stop by to do this earlier. Not even Aleysha knows about it. I think she would be pissed if she knew."

Her 'artist' had painted a very sexy Mrs Santa outfit on her naked body, in red, white, brown for the belt, and black boots. The colours were so deep and vivid that at first, I didn't spot under the lights that she was in fact naked. The 'skirt' was short and cleverly painted to look as if pleated. The big giveaway were her breasts with their engorged nipples, which could not be completely disguised by mere red paint, and the valley between her legs.

Time was short and I set to work to take rapid multiple shots of Alana in a variety of sexy poses. I had to insist on a stuffed reindeer toy being positioned between her legs with its head obscuring her pussy, which, too, could not be disguised by paint alone. The sparse coverage offered by the antlers provided minimal cover for her pussy cleft.

"I'm glad you're along for the ride, pardner," she announced, with a fake American twang.

After posing for still shots she pranced around with the toy reindeer, playing to the digital camcorder. Then she was clothed again in her voluminous shift before the door opened and two ladies burst in.

One was a buxom brunette, the other a bright-red-hair-dyed vamp.

The buxom brunette immediately protested, "I thought we agreed: no men!"

Alana hurried to her and 'mwa'd' her on each cheek. "I found a man who can be discreet. Josie will vouch for him. He will be my camera operator whilst I creatively direct the pose that will catapult you to calendar fame, Brenda. Now, go and change."

The ladies left in a confused state, escorted by one of the maid attendants.

I was pre-occupied after that, following Alana's instructions about how we should stage each tableau, made doubly difficult by my not knowing who and what I would be photographing. The lingering memory of how good Alana had looked as she remembered to stretch and arch her body for the camera boosted my confidence for the evening.

The late autumnal light from the windows was fading and artificial lights were switched on. Ladies began to stream into the ballroom, some in costumes, others wrapped in dressing gowns. They varied in age and body size, but all had one unifying feature: they looked elegant or eye-catchingly sexy.

Brenda, the buxom brunette was probably the oldest. Alana told me that she ran a very successful, upmarket boutique hotel. I eyed her in her dressing gown and speculated what she would be wearing underneath. She was to prove one of the evening's biggest surprises for me.

Her bright red-haired companion was Susie, a physiotherapist and masseuse by trade. She had no false modesty and was wearing a black leather micro-miniskirt and six-inch black heels. Oh, and a thin, diaphanous black silky top. Her obviously unfettered breasts bounced with every move or breath she took. Brenda looked nervous standing beside her and shooting frequent stabbing glances at her outfit.

The maids circulated with an array of drinks on silver trolleys. What had minutes before been an echoing, almost silent space, was now filled with excited chatter. I counted fifteen ladies dressed up in some fashion, a few others in conventional dress, and three maids whom I assumed were the waiting staff. More trolleys were wheeled in with a wide array of snacks and nibbles to provide a solid foundation for the alcohol of which these ladies of substance would undoubtedly imbibe in vast quantities.

I saw ladies staring at me curiously. Comments, such as: "Why is he here? He should be serving the drinks! And, who has he come with?" floated around the ether. I had assumed that they would have been primed to expect me, but I guessed that I had been a last minute addition to the arrangements.

I concentrated on checking light levels, trying to look professional, and not making unnecessary eye contacts. Josie and Bruna were talking animatedly together and only discreetly acknowledged me. I feared that this was going to be a long evening for me.

Soft music had been playing in the background. It was abruptly dialled down now and a clear, velvety, sexy voice broke in, "Ladies, welcome. I hope you are warming up nicely for this evening's adventure."

It was Aleysha, the host, putting on a very effective compère's voice. She was wearing a wispy but opaque gown in pale blue, which disguised something somewhat lumpy that she was wearing underneath. She still managed to look regal and stunning.

"You all know why we are here: to make a calendar for next year, strictly for our trusted friends. I expect their donations to be substantial. Our worthwhile cause is our local ambulance station which was badly damaged by fire and threatened with closure. We need to keep a rapid response ambulance service locally. The Health Trust has confidentially set us a financial target to reach, to repair the building. It is £85,000."

There was a gasp around the room. I heard a murmured comment: "It wasn't supposed to be that high; how can we possibly raise that much money? Are we wasting our time?"

Aleysha resumed. "We all agreed that we would be anonymous, just 'Ladies of Margrave'. We know we must exude sex appeal if we are to sell the calendar in the numbers required to come anywhere near our target. Our audience would mostly know and recognise us if it were not for Alana's technical expertise. She can disguise anybody who doesn't want to be recognisable. Just tell her, once you have seen your pictures. The important thing is to have impact. The calendar will be sold by word of mouth amongst our contacts. Our market is the crem de la crème of London society. We must be bold. I hope you have all prepared costumes that will excite the imagination of our intended audience. I'm glad to see that there are more than we need for twelve months. Perhaps some of you will pair up together?

"Alana has set up the stages, so let's go to it and have some fun, and make some money; all in a good cause."

First up was Bruna. I knew what her costume was, so I watched the audience as she unveiled it. She did not disappoint. There were several gasps at her reveal. Her tabard looked even smaller on her body at a distance than it had appeared on the train. But she had augmented the effect with some sort of oil with metallic elements which reflected the light. Even in ordinary light, her flesh shimmered. She wore buff coloured suede boots with Cuban heels, which made her legs look even longer, and her calf muscles taut. She also oozed sex appeal. The headband with feathers sticking up in it gave the only clue to her theme. A faux campfire scene had been set up for her to pose against. It gave much scope for varying poses, including revealing ones.

Bruna looked stunning, as I had expected she would: pure sex on legs. Her body would have looked just as desirable in a black sack. I wheeled in a lighting rig and adjusted the lights to focus in with soft lighting on her body. Alana smiled at the subtlety of the lighting and nodded. I chose to hold the camera rather than mount it on a tripod, and moved in with instructions to Bruna to move around and adopt various poses. It was obvious that she was naked under the tabard, and there was a gasp when I suggested that she remove her boots and leap up and spread her legs.

"Try and touch your toes. I know you can do it."

She did it, and I caught brilliant shots of her suspended in mid-air as if above the fire, with her arms pointed forward, legs spread wide, and gaping pussy.

"You're surely not going to use that shot," someone cried.

I turned and smiled. "No, but that's how I want you all to feel, even if you can't do the gymnastics. That way, you will communicate your sexiest personality to the camera. We will be very careful which pictures we use."

That provoked a murmur of excited voices, mixed with no little apprehension. Peoples' imaginations were stirring.

Bruna's reaction was nothing to that which Josie provoked when she unveiled her chain-link dress. She had 'forgotten' the under-dress again. She, or someone, had oiled her body, to highlight it behind the fine mesh chain links. The lighting brought it out of the shadows. She danced like a 1920s flapper to make the dress swing away from her body, to general gasps of the onlookers. She needed no props other than a plain backdrop, to support her. She dominated the camera like a professional model.

She looked the most professional that evening; a stunning model who knew how to move and show her body to its best advantage. I didn't have to arrange her poses at all nor, thankfully, even touch her. I was getting stirred up in my pants again.

After her, Alana summoned Susie, the physiotherapist and masseuse, who had been wearing her black faux leather miniskirt outfit proudly since she arrived. Alana said that she would be shown against a chic club entrance background. She was easy to photograph since she merely had to pout for the camera and adopt various stagey poses, bathed in a flashlight, as of paparazzi snappers. The flash made her top quite transparent, and her breasts and nipples showed through quite plainly. I left that problem for Alana to sort out.

Aleysha had been drifting about between small groups of chatting ladies. Now, she made a beeline for me.

"That was most -- illuminating. I watched your eyes closely. You like the female form, no? So, what do you think about my costume?"

She undid the sash and opened the front of the gown. I had not tried to guess at what she would choose. It turned out to be a bellydancer's costume, with a very full bra, which her ample breasts more than adequately filled, low-waisted belt and tassels. I stared at it in surprise, not anticipating that such an elegant woman would be prepared to show quite such an expanse of belly. I liked it, although noting that its full effect would only be felt by the gradual removal of components to reveal ever more flesh. Photographing the 'full' outfit to make it visually interesting would be problematic.