A Perfect Pose

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Distaste was written large on Ellen Powers’ face as she walked through Stafford Trading Estate.

Even after several years she didn’t understand why the studio was there; in her opinion, not that anyone had ever asked for it, a trading estate was the last place a modelling studio should be. She had thought that from the moment she signed up with the agency, and her opinion hadn’t changed during the last three years. If anything, she had become more convinced that the studio should be somewhere else, somewhere away from the noise, the dirt, and the smells.

She thanked God - a reflex only since she believed in little beyond herself, and that if you had either good looks or money you could get whatever you wanted - that she only had a couple more months to go; once she finished school she wouldn’t have to go there again.

A wolf-whistle diverted Ellen from her thoughts, and reminded her of the one good thing about the studio’s location - there was a decent number of hunky young men working in the various units that made up the trading estate.

It was a rare occasion when she didn’t get at least one whistle on her way to the studio, and the more men who admired her, the happier she was. She loved getting attention from the opposite s*x, as long as they expressed their interest from a distance; she didn’t want them getting too close, not unless she gave them permission.

Spinning towards the source of the whistle, Ellen made her short skirt flare up, so it showed more of her toned and tanned thighs, and almost, but not quite, revealed her underwear. She had a lot of practice at moves like that, and knew just how to tease to maximum effect, without going too far.

She blew a kiss towards the trio in the yard of the metal fabricators, whose whistle and open ogling made plain their appreciation of her figure. Two of them were older men, perhaps even older than her stepfather, but that didn’t bother her; she was more than happy to flirt and give them a bit of a tease, as long as they remained out of reach and were content simply to look, she figured it was probably the most excitement they got in their lives. Her grey eyes alight with amusement, Ellen spun again, allowing her skirt to flip up a little higher than it had before so they got a bit more of a flash, before she continued on towards her destination.

As she left the trio behind, she found herself wondering if any of them had seen her website, or if they might be subscribers, that thought gave her a thrill of excitement. If they were they would have seen far more of her than the brief flash of thigh she had just given them, they would have seen the pair of moles she wanted to have removed: one at her bikini line, and the other on the upper swell of her right breast.

The building that housed the Larsson Studio came into view a couple of minutes later and she lengthened her stride, eager to get there. She didn’t like the location, but she loved what she did at the studio. Being an exhibitionist by nature, she had no problem showing off her body, no matter who was around, in fact she loved doing so; she also loved clothes, which made modelling an ideal career for her.

In her opinion she had the perfect body for modelling - it was easily the best of the girls who modelled for Eric Larsson - she was tall for her age at five foot nine, slim, and well-toned, tanned to a nice, golden brown, with grey eyes that were as inviting as her lips, and blonde hair that reached halfway down her back like a golden waterfall.

Ellen’s eyes went to the discreet plaque on the wall to the left of the double doors as she approached the entrance. As always, she wondered how many of the people who worked on the Stafford Estate knew what the Larsson Studio did, some of them must have figured it out, she was sure.

She put her curiosity aside once she was through the doors in anticipation of the fun she was going to have that afternoon. The photoshoot that had been planned at the weekend was a themed one, the theme being fantasy, and she always enjoyed them more than she did an average shoot. She didn’t know exactly what outfits had been picked out for the shoot, but she knew they would be colourful, and revealing, with appropriate props, and tomorrow, it being the weekend, she would be doing some outside shoots.

“Hiya, Ellen.”

The bright voice that greeted her made Ellen turn her head to regard the young girl seated at the receptionist’s desk in surprise. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a voice that hovered on the edge of outright rudeness. “Shouldn’t you be out the back somewhere, helping your mum with the clothes?” It amused Ellen to see Polly Larsson flush an unpleasant shade of red, which made her look like a tomato.

“Maggie needed the toilet, so I said I’d cover reception for her,” she said.

Ellen grinned unpleasantly. “I hope no-one’s come in while you’ve been here, they’ll never believe they’ve got the right place if the first thing they see is you.” She crossed to the door at the rear of the reception area, which had opened as she was speaking, and swept past the receptionist so she could head down the passage to the rear of the building.

“Just you ignore her,” Maggie, the receptionist, said firmly. “Everyone’s beautiful in their own way,” she told Polly, making it clear she had overheard what Ellen had said. “Her kind of beauty,” she dismissed it with a wave of one hand, “is only skin deep, and it’ll fade soon enough - she’ll have to work hard to keep it. Your kind of beauty, though.” She reached out to stroke Polly’s lustrous black hair, a legacy from her Polynesian mother, along with her less than slender physique and lack of height. “It’s the best kind. You’re like your mother, beautiful inside and out, that’s why everyone likes you.”

“Not Ellen,” Polly said sadly.

Maggie gave her a smile, a friendly one that was not at all like the one she had received from her fellow teen. “Who wants to be liked by her? The only people she likes are those who can do something for her. Did you tell her your father wants to see her the moment she gets here?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Sorry, I forgot,” Polly apologised. “I’ll go and tell her now.” She got to her feet, but Maggie shook her head.

“It’s alright, I’ll tell her,” Maggie said. “She won’t be rude to me.” Being ten years older than Ellen, and having spent all of that time working at the studio in one capacity or another - prior to becoming the receptionist she had been one of the studio’s first models - she was well used to dealing with models who had high opinions of themselves.

Maggie found the teen in the big studio at the end of the corridor, checking through the outfits that had been put out for her photoshoot. “Eric wants to see you,” she told Ellen, who spun away from the railing to scowl at her.

“What for? I’ve got a photoshoot to do. Where’s Jez? He should be setting up the lights and the cameras.” It annoyed her that things hadn’t been fully prepared for the shoot; they knew what time she was due, everything should have been ready for her. They didn’t even have the music set up. She had to resist the urge to swear in frustration.

“I don’t know.”

Ellen got the distinct impression that Maggie was lying, and she did know what Eric Larsson wanted to see her about. She was tempted to push to find out, she didn’t fancy going to see Eric, who rarely called one of his models into the office without a good reason, without at least some idea of what was going on, but she suspected Maggie would refuse to say, and she didn’t want to give the older woman the satisfaction of seeing her concerned.

“All I know is, he wants to see you the moment you get here,” Maggie said. “You’d better run along to the office and find out what he wants.”

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