[Emperor Wang]

As promised, here's Part Three, albeit a couple of weeks late. The bad news: it ends rather abruptly. The good news: there will indeed be a fourth and final installment, probably within a couple of days. (No, SERIOUSLY, a couple of days this time!) Thank you all for your patience, your kind compliments and related anecdotes. Enjoy.

(THREE)

My girlfriend’s modeling gig continued – usually several nights a week – for nearly a year, and in addition to providing me with some candaulistic thrills and her with an outlet for her innate exhibitionism, the situation brought fringe benefits for us both. She soon picked up some waitressing shifts at her artist-employer’s restaurant and did occasional courier work for several of his business associates. When she mentioned to him that I’d been laid off from a job, he hired my best friend and me (for a rather generous fee) to move his office furniture and mountains of files when he relocated to a bigger space in the same office building. I also helped out on several occasions when his restaurant was shorthanded for catering jobs.

During their sessions, my girl continued “casually” neglecting to cover up between poses but made a point of not doing it every time; she enjoyed the hungry looks he gave her while she nonchalantly paraded around naked and didn’t want him to get too used to it. Even after several months I was as aroused as ever by the prospect of her exposing herself, which she in turn found equally enjoyable; the only drawback was that we still couldn’t come up with a legitimate reason for me to be present while she modeled. We realized we’d have to look elsewhere to make that happen. But where? She soon floated a new idea: photography.

The local weekly arts and entertainment paper always had a number of modeling jobs posted in the classified section – in fact, that was how she’d connected with her current employer in the first place. In any given issue the postings were more or less evenly split between artists and photographers, although the latter tended to be much more diverse, ranging from mundane catalogue-type content to swimwear to “artistic nudes” to various euphemisms for hardcore porn (“adult content,” “full contact” and my favourite, “some casual penetration required” which cracked us both up). We checked the ads weekly. Our criteria seemed easy enough to meet and after about a month of near-misses, we seemed to have found the right one: “Photog sks attr F models, pro or am, 18-35 for shoots involving lingerie and Playboy-style nude.”

She made the call from the kitchen and at her insistence I listened on the bedroom extension. Introducing himself as Martin, the photographer came across as professional and personable, describing himself as a semi-pro hoping to eventually turn his passion into a full-time gig; he was currently holding down a day job at his parents’ wholesale business while honing his craft shooting weddings and the occasional model portfolio. He explained that while he had plenty of experience shooting nudes, his only model so far had been his now ex-girlfriend; the prospect of working with a stranger for a nude model was something he considered a big step forward professionally. My girlfriend gave him a brief rundown on her own background, explaining that she had experience modeling nude for drawing and painting but never for photographs, let alone anything “glam,” and she was eager to give it a try. The fee he was offering wasn’t overly generous but quite reasonable given his limited resources, her lack of experience in this particular medium and the fact that the photos would not be for publication. She agreed to the amount without dickering, then broke it to him that there was one catch: for safety reasons, her boyfriend had to be present throughout the shoot.

Brief silence at his end, then “Ummm…” My heart sank. She jumped in: “Hey, he’s totally cool about the whole thing, really. He wouldn’t cause any trouble. This is strictly for my own peace of mind, since it’s the first time with someone new. He came with me the first time I posed for this artist I’ve been working with for months now – just that first time.” This last part, of course, was a total lie, and I prayed that he’d buy it.

Martin responded, “Well, I suppose it’d be fine if he waited in another room.” It was all I could do to keep from exclaiming “Oh fuck NO!” She remained cool but insistent: “No, I really would need him right there with us. It’s the only way I could be, you know, completely uninhibited for something like this the first time around. Trust me, he’d be totally unobtrusive and it would make me more confident.”

The back-and-forth continued for a few minutes, both remaining calm and friendly but unwilling to budge. Eventually, they agreed on one thing: they’d need to meet in person first so she could get a look at his portfolio and he could get a look at her (this being the early 1990s, emailing photos back and forth was still a few years off). Naturally, I’d accompany her to the meeting. Disappointed as I was over his reluctance, I was optimistic about how things would go in person. I’d put him at ease just being my (ahem) charming, mild-mannered and thoroughly unthreatening self. More importantly, I was convinced that one look at her would change his tune in a nanosecond.

Which was basically how it went. We met up with him the next afternoon on the patio of a nearby coffee shop, with her sporting my favourite pair of Daisy Duke cutoffs and a threadbare old Rolling Stones tour shirt with no bra. Martin turned out to be an easygoing, clean-cut guy around our age. His reaction upon meeting her was pretty much as I’d expected – his jaw didn’t quite drop but his pleasurable shock was evident. The prints in his portfolio showed an emerging talent, some fine work of generally semi-pro quality. There were multiple images of his rather attractive ex-girlfriend scantily clad, including the occasional topless shot, but no nudes; he explained that while he had hundreds of pics of her in the buff he was honouring her wishes by keeping them private even after a somewhat acrimonious breakup, which we found admirable. As I’d predicted, he was sufficiently won over by my girl’s looks and charming demeanour that he quickly caved and agreed to have me present throughout the shoot, under certain conditions that I found perfectly reasonable: I was to remain strictly fly-on-the-wall and not interrupt or distract the model in any way, all fine by me. He explained that his initial reticence was rooted in an unfortunate recent experience: back in the spring he had attempted a shoot with another model that called for some toplessness, though not full nudity, and he had agreed to have the model’s boyfriend present. The guy assured Martin beforehand that he was completely cool with the idea, then went ballistic a minute or so after the girl removed her top. Martin wound up calling the session off and the couple had a screaming match on the street outside the studio, eventually attracting the attention of passing cops. He also confided that he’d been in my position before, going along to supervise when his ex did a couple of nude shoots, although both times the photographers had been friends of his. Of course, this had me wondering if he shared my candaulistic tendencies – had he been as turned on by it then as I was now? How common could this really be?

With all terms agreed upon, a session was arranged for the following Saturday afternoon; rather than renting studio space again, the shoot would take place at a large condo where he was house-sitting for friends that month.

Come Saturday, we were forced to park blocks away from the high rise where Martin was staying. It was a near-perfect summer afternoon, on the hot side but gently breezy. Walking past a park that was teeming with families, I noticed my girl getting some appreciative looks from various men (and, I swear, at least one woman); she had worn my favourite sundress, a loose-fitting, ultra-light number with spaghetti straps which, from just the right angle, offered intermittent glimpses of sideboob. Upon our arrival at the spacious, beautifully appointed fifteenth-floor condo, it became apparent that Martin shared my taste for the sundress. “I have some lingerie for you wear in the earlier part of the shoot,” he said to her, “but I’d actually love to do some shots of you in that dress first. It’s absolutely gorgeous.” She readily agreed and he spent the next few minutes giving her a rundown on how the shoot would go, explaining that they would be progressing from clothed to lingerie to topless to fully nude. The condo’s living room and master bedroom had floor-to-ceiling windows, providing ample natural lighting without the glare of direct sunlight until much later in the day. I helped Martin move a few items of furniture out of the way, then took up a position along the living room wall to be as unobtrusive as possible.

Shooting soon got underway with a series of her posing in the sundress, mainly standing, some sitting, occasionally leaning forward to afford him a partial glimpse of the upper part of her little breasts but never quite full exposure. Martin certainly didn’t need to worry about me interrupting the proceedings; she was so radiant, I was hopelessly tongue-tied. Her relative inexperience was nowhere in evidence as she followed his instructions like a seasoned pro: flirtatious here, demure there, dead serious one moment, giggly the next. What was evident, on the other hand, was her enjoyment; the sundress wasn’t sheer but her stiff, protruding nipples practically threatened to rip through the thin cotton. Martin’s demeanour remained strictly professional but he was clearly enjoying himself as well, voicing encouragement and approval to her at regular intervals. He didn’t need to force it – even to the most casual observer, she was stunning. He eventually did a beautiful series of shots of her standing in front of the big living room window, facing away, looking out over the cityscape, the dress’s straps down over her shoulders, back fully exposed but breasts still (barely) covered as she held the dress up in front, looking as if it were about to fall away…

“…aaand that’ll do it,” he said. “Let’s give that lingerie a try now.” She pulled the dress up again and readjusted the straps before turning around to face him, fully covered and casual, although her jutting nipples continued to betray her excitement. “There’s a good-sized bathroom off the master bedroom down here,” he said, walking her down the hallway. “You can get changed in the bathroom but if it’s not big enough you can use the bedroom too. Just don’t leave anything lying around there because we’ll eventually be doing some shots in the bedroom as well.” As soon as they were out of the room I did my best to catch my breath and get composed, taking advantage of their brief absence to reach into my pants and readjust my erection to be less prominent – good thing I’d worn an oversize t-shirt that hung down low. I couldn’t believe how aroused I already was when she hadn’t even exposed herself yet, which I knew was going to change sooner than later. I suddenly realized that I was absent-mindedly stroking my throbbing cock; I quickly got my hand back out of my pants just seconds before Martin returned. We made small talk for several minutes while she was down the hall changing into the next outfit. Soon our conversation was in danger of descending into an awkward silence, so I was relieved to hear a door open down the hall, followed by the sound of her bare feet approaching.

That deep-burgundy, thong-back lace teddy she sported upon returning to the room wasn’t really her kind of thing – her taste in lingerie ran to the minimal, as did mine – but I had to admit she looked fucking hot. The colour perfectly offset her dark eyes and deep auburn hair. The garment wasn’t quite sheer but was cut high over the thighs and hips and the light, lacy material was clingy enough that her nipples seemed to stick out a mile. She looked incredible and the split-second glance she shot me upon entering told me she knew it too. Martin was unreserved in his approval: “Damn! I do have impeccable taste in intimate apparel, don’t I?” he said. She beamed at him, accepting the compliment without hesitation. He glanced to me for confirmation; I shrugged and mumbled, “Good taste in models too.” He smiled and nodded his agreement, then turned to her: “Okay, let’s get started again.”

They got underway, with her taking up many of the same poses as previously. When he had her face away toward the big picture window it was all I could do to keep from gasping out loud at the sight of her exquisitely round ass in that thong. She clearly knew it was having the desired effect, thrusting her hips out towards him as he clicked away. I managed to stay unobtrusive, lurking along the wall on the other side of the room, but felt on the verge of exploding already. I wondered how I’d fare once she exposed a bit more. I soon found out.

They continued a while with more shots of her standing by the window, then he had her move over to the couch. A few more poses clicked by with her reclining and stretching; then he had her sit up and forward, perched on the edge of the couch, back slightly arched, eyes never straying from straight into the lens. A few more shots, then, “Okay, keep the top part held up in front but let the straps fall away from your shoulders.”

Oh fuck, I thought, here we go. She followed the instruction, levelled a come-hither look toward the camera, delicate neck and shoulders bared, the teddy’s skimpy top now held up in front with her right hand; he snapped four or five more frames. And then, “Alright, now let the left side of the top fall away.”

The moment remains tattooed on my brain forever: her dropping the left side as instructed, exposing one exquisite, perky little breast. The nipple stood stiffly at attention, the areola tightening, puckering, growing darker. And all the while, her smoldering gaze straight toward the camera never faltered; he clicked off another succession of shots, then lowered the camera and just looked at her, pausing a moment to ponder his next move. Or – who knows? – maybe just looking.

“Okay, drop the other side now. Let the top half fall down around your waist.”

She complied without even a hint of hesitation, fully exposing her tits and midriff. He clicked off a few shots, paused, stared at her a few moments, then smiled and quietly intoned, “Beautiful.” Another moment, then, “Hold that for a few more.” He snapped off another seven or eight, then told her to give him a few variations. Again, she followed orders like a natural, leaning back slightly on one arm, then up straight again, then forward slightly, then back, with him clicking through four or five each time. My heart pounded as they went through more variations on the couch, lying back, then propped up on one elbow, then sitting forward again. Even as I kept my composure outwardly I was sure she could sense my incredible arousal, although I was glad Martin was so caught up in shooting that he seemed almost to forget I was there at all.

“Back to the beginning – couple more like that,” he said and she went back to the initial pose, sitting forward on the couch as he snapped away, “and we’re done with this one.” She relaxed and stretched a bit while he quickly checked the camera. “Okay, let’s get you switched into the next outfit.” They disappeared down the hallway again; moments later he returned with a circular light reflector panel about three feet across. “The natural light in here’s mostly good as is,” he said, “but I may need you to hold this to bounce the light just a bit in this next series, okay?” I happily agreed. Glancing out the huge picture window, I remarked on the magnificent city view, which provided us with some much-needed conversational fodder as the model seemed to be taking her time about getting changed. Before long she reappeared, topless, delicious and seemingly perfectly casual in white fishnet stay-up stockings and a barely-there matching lacey g-string – again, a far cry from anything she’d normally wear but so very, very hot. Shooting resumed, this time concentrating mainly on her standing near the window, though just far enough back that she wouldn’t be visible to anyone in the surrounding high rises. (Well, not to very many of them, at least.) Martin was using a fairly high-end Nikon but budgetary constraints were such that he only had the one camera, so he soon had to stop and pop in another roll of film. He made the switch quickly but was distracted just long enough for my girlfriend to steal a look at me. She smiled, clearly aware that I was enjoying myself to the fullest, and silently mouthed “I love you” just moments before Martin turned his attention back to her to begin shooting again.

There was a pretty wide space open on the deep-pile carpeted floor since Martin and I had moved the furniture earlier and he now had her sprawl out there, stretching, twisting and slowly writhing around, then halting at his command when he saw a position he wanted to shoot. The nipples remained rigidly at attention throughout – god, what I wouldn’t have given to be able to suck on them right then and there. Her legs – fishnet-clad, stretched out, toes pointed – looked particularly spectacular in these shots; the skimpy lace g-string accentuated her gorgeous ass magnificently, and when she rolled over, barely covered her delicious little mound as she opened her legs wider on certain shots, then brought them back together again coyly. I wondered how far she’d let that go once the g-string came off? My balls were beginning to ache dully and she wasn’t even fully nude yet. I was suddenly jolted from my trance when I heard my name called from some great distance.

“Huh?” I looked toward Martin, then back to my girlfriend, then back again. A moment of silence, then both of them burst into laughter. “A little distracted, are you?” he snickered. “Uh, yeah, I guess,” I said sheepishly. “I mean, the visuals are a bit, you know…” “Aw, baby,” she said, shooting me a wink, “that’s very sweet.” I shrugged, beginning to laugh myself. Martin smiled and reassured me, “Hey, not that I blame you. She’s quite something, isn’t she? Anyway, I’m gonna need you to hold this reflector for me, just for a few shots.” “Oh, sure,” I said, regaining my composure.

He handed me the device, showed me where to stand – just to the left of where she lay on the floor – and had me hold it overhead, angled toward her, for a series of shots. How I managed to keep it from shaking is beyond me. Martin went back to work and the pace began to pick up, with her rolling from side to side into different poses, her facial expression becoming a little more intense with each passing minute; he seemed bent on matching her pace, jumping up onto a footstool to catch her full form from above, jumping down and crouching close to zoom in for a portrait, then back up again. After a few more minutes he stopped shooting and said, “Great, great, thanks! Okay, let’s take five. You ready to go fully nude after a quick break?” She smiled at him, then quickly glanced at me before saying, “Sure!” He offered us drinks; she opted for a bottle of mineral water but I was only too happy to join Martin in several fingers of bourbon on the rocks. We sat and chatted a few minutes, her not bothering to cover up, looking magnificent in the lingerie, firm little tits brazenly displayed to us both. The booze was just enough to take the edge off my nerves, although I must admit the sensation hadn’t been altogether unpleasant. She soon excused herself to go to the bathroom.

“She’s doing fantastically well,” he said as soon as she was out of the room. I nodded. He hastened to add, “Yeah, I know she’d done some figure modeling for drawing and painting before, which I’m sure helps, but this is a whole different medium and a different feel.” I heartily agreed, complimenting him on putting her at her ease. He shrugged, saying, “She’s certainly a lot more at ease than my girlfriend was her first time.” He went on to explain that he had basically been in my position on two different occasions when his ex modeled for friends of his. “I thought the fact that she was friends with Steve, the first guy, might help. But no. Tell the truth, it wasn’t very enjoyable for any of us. It was very tame stuff he was doing, just your typical black-and-white nude, sort of sculptural-looking stuff. We got through it okay but she cried for hours afterward. I felt horrible. So I was kind of surprised when she suddenly suggested trying it again about a year later with another friend of ours.” I finished my drink; he poured us both another. I offered that maybe the other friend was someone she felt more at ease with. “I think maybe she was,” he offered. “But it was seriously night and day – she wasn’t just more relaxed this time, I mean she really got into it! Really, you know, enjoying herself. And the style of stuff he was doing, well…” He trailed off. I needed to know. I waited a moment, then prodded, “What about it?” He sipped his drink. “Well, it started off pretty tame, much like what we’ve been doing here today. But we were there for several hours and eventually her inhibitions just went right out the window.” He stopped again. And again, I prodded: “How do you mean?” He smiled at the memory. “It just got more and more… intimate, I guess. Graphic. He eventually had her spreading her legs – like really wide – touching herself, you know, really sort of Hustler-style stuff. Of course by this point she’d been doing that kind of modeling for me for ages, but…” He trailed off. I tried to complete the thought for him. “But for someone who wasn’t her boyfriend,” I said. “Yeah,” he nodded, “and then to take it so far beyond just nudity, well, I was kind of blown away.” He paused a moment, then began laughing, “So was my friend!” I was so close to asking him how he really felt about it, whether he got half as much pleasure from that incident as I was getting now, but we were cut off when my stunning girlfriend boldly strolled back into the room, stark naked, and leaned nonchalantly against a wall. I actually gasped a bit, which no one seemed to hear because luckily Martin gasped a bit louder. The moment hung between us. Then she broke the silence: "So - we good to go again?"


(Hope you enjoyed Part Three. Again, I look forward to your feedback, including any related anecdotes you may have. The fourth and final installment will appear within the next couple of days.)