Sophie & Maureen

Chapter Three-1

Chapter Three

There were several other times in the arms of the photographer. He always started making love gently, but by the time he got to the main event, his engorged d**k thrust crudely and rode her hard—in ways he was embarrassed to reveal—he didn’t like this side of himself. Sophie didn’t mind, since her imaginings were always ten steps ahead of his, and she didn’t adore any lover—adoration was for romantics. She was in it for the pleasure, however that happened, sometimes the more ill-mannered and blunt the better. When the blunt end of Martin’s d**k battered her deeply, she was satisfied.

After two weeks, they stopped screwing in the afternoons, some of the fire between them dwindled down to gently glowing embers of respect and caring.

“Sophie!” he called her out of the downstairs dressing room one afternoon before she had a chance to put her clothes on. Because his voice sounded unusually autocratic, she immediately answered, moving into the studio in her bra, panties and bare feet.

“Martin?”

She let her red dress dangle in her hand as she walked his way across the hardwood floor.

Though his voice had been startling, by the time they were nearly nose to nose, he was again the gentleman photographer. He seemed like the friend she knew so well, and yet, there was an unusually stern aspect in his manner as well as a curious uneasiness.

She c****d her head quizzically waiting for him to speak.

“I have a client who is interested in a certain kind of model. I think you might be right for what he wants. He’s seen your fashion layouts and likes your look.”

“Oh?” Martin sounded wary of even talking about this and that intrigued her more. There seemed to be a nervous twitch in his right eye. She wondered what caused that.

“It could mean a lot of money, twice your normal hourly fee, even triple.”

“That is interesting. Fashion photography, or something else?”

He hedged. “I’d rather not put any preconceived ideas in your head. If you’d be willing to meet with him, he’ll tell you himself what he wants.”

“And you’ll be the photographer?”

He nodded.

“When?”

“Let’s try for Friday afternoon.”

The date was set, and Sophie, hearing someone in Martin’s reception room, slipped quickly into her dress. He zipped the back for her and she returned to the dressing room to find her shoes.

***

Foggy clouds covered the city most of the day, the grey seemed endless, a threat to good spirits. Sophie thought of driving down to Burlingame or Stanford, wherever the sun was shining. She’d soak up the sun in some city park and feel a whole lot better by the time evening rolled around. But, there was the appointment with Martin’s friend on her calendar. The prospect of more money couldn’t be easily abandoned for a self-indulgent afternoon. Maybe the city fog would lift by the time she got to the studio.

Doing little but putter about her apartment the better part of the day, when she finally parked her car at the bottom of Scoffield’s hill, and hiked to the top, the air was brightening, turning a putrid shade of yellow for just an instant before the sun finally broke through. Friday afternoon, she was ready for a break. Except for the one shoot with Martin earlier in the week, her modeling career had seen little action. Until he mentioned this unexplained client, she worried that she’d lost some of the luster in his eyes, though he still seemed as adoring and enthusiastic when they were working together. Likely, it was no more than her insecurity playing with her mind. But why had he been nervous suggesting this meeting? It had reminded her of the day they first made love. She took that to mean that there was something s****l involved with this mysterious project. She liked mysteries, but this was just too vague to stimulate her imagination.

When she reached the stairs to the studio door, it was just four-thirty. An initial interview shouldn’t take more than half an hour. She could be back at the deli for the second shift, and she’d promised that to Maureen.

With the door unexpectedly locked, she knocked loudly and waited, then moments later was greeted warmly by Martin.

“Pretty early to be closing down for the night, isn’t it?” she said.

He smiled. “I didn’t want to be interrupted.”

She took that at face value and followed him into the main studio. Instead of the light and airy look that she was accustomed to, the partitions were arranged in an arc and had been draped in black velvet, giving the room the feel of a dank cave. At the head of the arc Martin’s client sat leaning back casually in a canvas-backed chair, his legs crossed, left ankle resting on his right knee.

“This the one?” the man asked as Martin stopped abruptly at his side, and then making way for Sophie he nearly shoved her in front of his client.

“She’s the model in the layouts.”

There was no more awkward a moment than this first one, tipped off-balance by Martin’s rude hand, then attempting to gain some poise while remaining on her feet inside her high-heeled sandals. She was more nervous than she’d ever been at any audition. Perhaps rightfully so once she gazed at the man in the chair.

If he were on his feet, he’d be tall, towering over her five-feet seven. But it was his intensity that took her off guard more than anything. She could tell a tailored suit from one off the rack, custom cotton shirts from those packaged in plastic, and hand-painted silk ties from factory produced. He was a one-of-a-kind sort of man, and not one she could instantly decipher. Her mind went blank seeing a pair of icy blue eyes peer into her own. His jet-black hair was perfectly combed—in fact, everything about him was as neat as a pin. In spite of that, there was something crude about him. The feeling instantly made her sexually hot and agitated.

“Open the shade, will you Martin?” the man asked with a wave of his hand. A moment later, the darkness in the room was displaced by the brightness of the out-of-doors streaming through the window, baptizing the awkward trio in a luminous glow.

“Sophie,” he spoke her name as though he’d been talking to her for years.

“Yes.” She bit her lip bashfully, hating herself for being so self-conscious—a model may feel that way, but never communicates that at an audition. She could feel failure bearing down on her. But then, what could be so important about one little job?

“Stand up straight for me, if you will,” he said acknowledging her indifferent slouch. “And turn around.”

Sophie straightened, then shuffled, making a hundred and eighty degree turn, aware that the intensity of his gaze seemed to be burning into her backside by the time her ass was facing his eyes.

“And back around, please.” His air was rigorous, as though he had much in mind and they were only getting started. When she was facing him, his next order followed, “Your hands behind your back since you don’t know what to do with them.”

Was it that obvious? she wondered aimlessly as she grabbed her fingers from behind and rested her hands on the top of her ass.

“And raise your chin.”

This was the oddest audition she’d ever had.

“And turn to your side please.” He paused as she struck the pose.

It took on the feel of a game, like the children’s game, Simon Says.

“Now with your head held high, look down at the floor.”

Was that possible? She questioned the command only in her mind, and quickly affected the posture and attitude he wanted. It would appear that she could do anything guided by his curt words. And each change became easier to accomplish the more she gave up thinking it was bizarre.

“Your back to me again, please,” his voice was almost inside her head, her obedience bordering on unthinking. She noted how the room was growing hot, how her skin was starting to burn, how she seemed to be melting into the bristly afternoon warmth, the sun beaming in the undraped window, almost making her feel feverish. There was a trickle of sweat meandering downward from her neck between her breasts, and she feared another was making a slow and obvious journey down her back. There was perspiration underneath her arms, and for one brief, second she caught the aroma of her cunt—something pleasant and seductive. But she couldn’t understand why she felt so aroused.

“Bend forward.”

Her hands still clasped behind her back, she bent at the waist, knees locked, her skirt rising to show the back of her legs to the bottom of her panties. If he were looking, which he certainly was, he’d see the shadow of her cunt beneath the smooth white fabric firmly capturing her bottom cheeks. He’d see everything if she weren’t wearing them—anus, clit, gaping cunt and pubic hair. Apparently, he understood that since his next command seemed plucked directly from her own fertile, sexually driven thoughts.

“Stand up and take off your panties.” Had she heard him right? Or was she just imagining that he was making love to her with his voice? Her cunt began to cream, and inside, involuntarily spasm. Her reply to his instructions was as involuntary as her physical response.

She stood up balancing precariously. Then raising her skirt enough to reach the tops of her panties, she lifted the waistband from her skin with a finger and the cotton dropped to the floor.

“Kick it away,” he said. She was facing him, eyes glued on his, his on hers.

“Now bend again with your ass to me, your hands at the small of your back.”

She shivered with an embarrassed blush and girlish smile, then dutifully posed. He’d see her p***y wet, perhaps a trickle of juice leaking down her leg, and steam, vaporized heat rising from her crotch rising above her ass. She imagined the fog as though it were real, gathering a hint of her redolent perfume within its mist. He finger-f****d her with his eyes, dabbled her wet labia with imaginary lips. Another spasm. She was dizzy, ready to fall forward in a faint until his voice awakened her.

“Rise please, Sophie.”

She stood, even shakier than before.

“And turn around.”

Facing him, she blushed, though it would hardly change the blush of red already so obvious on her face. Her cheeks were throbbing hot.

“Martin will be taking pictures of you at my direction. I have specific needs for this shoot, and he tells me you’re easily led. If you can follow along, you’ll have a job for several weeks posing for my pictorials. That is if you want this kind of work.”

“I suppose so. But you’ve told me very little.”

“True. And a good woman doesn’t ask too many questions. Neither will you. It will be easier that way.”

***

They weren’t eating at the deli or in either apartment for this conversation. Maureen wanted fresh greens at the market and Sophie followed along like a kid, throwing her best friend curves every time they rounded another bin of vegetables. She whispered as they walked, but not quietly enough to suit Maureen. “I think it might be really kinky stuff.”

“Have you asked Martin?”

“Martin wouldn’t say.”

“What?” She couldn’t believe that. “Martin tells you everything.”

“Not about this. I think he’s embarrassed. Or maybe he doesn’t know.”

“He knows.”

“But he keeps telling me I can decline the job. Which only makes me want to say yes. The guy was creepy in a handsome sort of way.”

“Those two adjectives don’t go together.”

“In my book they do.” They stopped at a display of vine-ripened tomatoes. “What if he wants to tie me up,” she whispered.

“You sound as if you’d like that,” Maureen whispered back.

“Maybe. Sometimes when I’m having s*x, I pretend I am.”

“Pretend being tied?” her voice became almost inaudible.

“Ropes and everything.”

“But not real ropes.”

“And why not? Could be fun.”

“Shush! Could be dangerous. And you think Martin really wants this?”

“I’m not sure. I think Martin isn’t in control of this any more than I am.”

“Then talk to him honestly about your reservations.”

“I’m not sure I have any.”

“Oh, yes, you do. You may have desires, and they are running rampant right now; but you wouldn’t be running this by me if you were already sure what you wanted.”

“True.” She waltzed along behind Maureen through the lettuce and cabbage, Mo choosing a fat, pale green cabbage the size of a bowling ball. “You know what? I’m all tingling inside and I don’t know why.”

“If you’re asking my permission, I won’t give it. If you want my advice, I’d say there are safer things. Since you’re going to do what you want, all I can say is be careful.”