The Horny Photographer

It was a weird feeling to look at the new place that was going to be my home for the next year. It was a nice, two-story building, one that would be an achievement to own as a fresh college graduate, even to rent.

Unfortunately, it was only the basement I was able to afford. Sad, but not unexpected. After all, I had chosen my major in visual arts, focusing on photography, willfully ignoring the fact that it was almost impossible to get a well-paying job, or even a job, after graduation. I believed that I had the ability to burst through the unbreakable ceiling, working with the best magazines, spending my nights with models who were desperately trying to get a photo shoot with me…

The reality didn't agree with my generous plans. There were no cushy jobs in top magazines, nor models desperately begging, willing to anything for a favor, and the student loans were crushing. The only luck I had was to find a freelance gig for an online shopping site, and even for that, the pay dwindled into nothing after I subtracted the pay for the models and the rent for the studio.

Which was why I was standing in front of this house. I was lucky enough to come across the ad a few days ago, where I was desperately looking for an affordable place to stay, since I had to leave the dorm. The basement was amazing, completely lacking windows, but with a tall enough ceiling that I could leverage it as a makeshift studio until I could make some money, freeing me from one of the biggest costs, renting a studio for each photo shoot. The landlady wasn't intending to rent it to a male, but a bit of playing the good boy, together with the offer to pay first three months in advance was enough to change her mind.

I even managed to stop myself from flirting with her, which was a veritable challenge. The landlady was a drop-dead gorgeous lady in her early thirties, one of the best bonuses of the place. I pressed the doorbell, and the door opened after a small delay, and the landlady stood on the other side, dressed in comfortable looking, but very conservative, sweatpants. "Stephen, welcome to your new residence," she said in a kind, welcoming voice, inviting me inside with a gesture, though it wasn't hard to catch an underlying reticence in her tone.

I wasn't really surprised to sense the reservation in her tone. She had mentioned me that her husband died a few years ago, and she was living with her daughters. It made sense that she was feeling stressed about a stranger about to reside in their house. Still, she was lucky, as the safety and happiness of the children were sacrosanct to me. I would do my best to protect and assist them. Unfortunately for her, the same protection didn't extend to sexy, voluptuous widows.

I followed her to the living room, my eyes were firmly on her bottom, watching as it shifted enticingly despite her loose pants. I spend a bit of time imagining the treasures that lay underneath, and how long it would take to convince her to reveal those treasures to my eyes. I opened my mouth to ask for whether the basement was ready for me to move in, but only a strangled gasp left my mouth.

I wasn't proud of the noise that I made, but I had a good reason for it. I wasn't expecting for a young woman to walk down the stairs, clad only in her underwear, no matter how conservative, and a pair of fluffy rabbit slippers, her eyes half-closed lazily. Curious, my landlady followed my gaze and looked upstairs, only to start shouting. "Nancy, what the hell are you doing! I told you that we are going to have a guest!"

Nancy's eyes popped open, and a strangled gasp left her mouth. "Mom!" she shouted, the mortification clear in her tone before turning and dashing through the stairs. I knew that it was wrong to look, but knowing its wrongness and actually refraining from watching as she climbed up the stairs was two different things, so I stayed focused on the lithe body that bounced the stairs. I was lucky that my landlady was busy watching her disappear instead of looking towards me. I didn't think that she would have taken well that I was watching her daughter run away.

"I'm so sorry for embarrassing you," she said as she turned towards me, reading the reason for my redness wrong. "It's my fault, I should have reminded her that you were going to arrive today. My oldest is a bit absentminded."

"Not a problem," I answered, but my mind was already on the next issue, trying come up with a nice way of asking. When she had first mentioned having a daughter, I assumed she would be a small child, considering my landlady didn't look a year over thirty, and even that was a stretch. But the girl who called her mother was clearly in her twenties.

She spoke before I could verbalize the question. "She is one of the daughters my late husband had from his first marriage," she explained, resolving the minor mystery. "But the lack of direct blood bond doesn't make her my daughter any less," she added, complete with the threatening gesture. The message was clear. They were under her full protection.

"Understood," I said with a placid smile. She was off-limits, if there was a risk of my landlady being aware, of course. Otherwise, it was the free season. "Is the basement ready? Sooner I set-up there, the better. I already have a shoot that I need to clear until tomorrow, and the model I arranged is going to be here in a couple hours."

She nodded, and I grabbed my luggage once more, trying to ignore their crushing weight. A few minutes later, I was looking at the room that was going to double as my workplace and my residence for a foreseeable future. On the one side, all of my personal effects were piled over a small bed, not that there was many, as I had to sell a lot of my belongings just to raise some capital for the tools of my trade.

I looked proudly to the items that rested on the left side of the room, and an early model camera that was perched over a worn-out tripod, the reflectors with more than one patch to repair the holes left by the careless smoking of the previous owner. Lenses rested in a beaten box, dirty with scratches. Still, I looked at them lovingly, knowing just how lucky I was to get them for less than two grand. They would have cost well above ten thousand if I tried to buy them brand-new.

I left my clothes as a pile, and turned my attention to my studio instead. I wanted everything to be perfect for my first shoot…

I was trying to contain my annoyance as I climbed the stairs, but it was a difficult task when an uppity slut had screwed up most of my plans, just because she remembered that she was supposed to attend a party at the last minute.

It wasn't that she was a unique beauty that was hard to replace. On the contrary, she was sub-par, both in attitude and in beauty. But there was one advantage that was hard to beat, that she was willing to work below the industry standards. It was important, because the job itself wasn't very lucrative. I tried to call a couple other cheap models that I occasionally worked with, but none of them were available for the day, which left me in a bind. I was supposed to finish the three dresses I had today.

Of course, I could always reach for an agency for a model, but their rates were much higher, high enough that I might actually lose money if the process if the shoot was delayed for any reason and I had to keep her for an extra hour.

"You look distracted," I heard my landlady saying. I turned, and saw her in the living room, watching TV.

"A bit," I answered. "My model just canceled on me. I'm trying to arrange a replacement, but with the time crunch, I'm not having much luck." Then, I noticed something important, one I might not have noticed if I wasn't under such a big pressure. Her sizes looked very similar to the model that was supposed to come. I wasn't completely sure with the loose clothing she was wearing, but I was sure enough to risk it. I let her continue talking, trying to come up with a delicate way to breach the topic, one that wouldn't leave me on the curb on the first day of my tenancy.

"Too bad that you couldn't use me as your model, right?" she said with a soft laugh. From her expression, it was obvious to see that it was a self-deprecating joke that wasn't meant to be taken seriously.

But I wasn't an idiot, so I pushed forward. I took a step forward, and let my gaze browse through her body in an obvious manner until she shifted in discomfort. "Actually, I'm not sure about that," I added, using the most professional and calm voice I could muster.

"What do you mean?" she asked, her discomfort taking the backseat for a moment as her curiosity asserted itself.

"You are a tall, beautiful young woman with a well-cared body. I fail to see why you can't be a model."

A blush much thicker than I have expected spread on her face. "But, I can't… It's not proper. And I'm not exactly young anymore"

"It's a job like any other," I said, a bit of passion infecting my voice despite my best effort. "There is no shame involved in modeling."

"I don't know…" she murmured once more, looking like she was about to reject the proposition.

I decided to change the tracks, focusing on the most important detail. She needed money enough to rent her basement to a man she didn't know, for a sum of a few thousand, indicating that she was having severe financial issues. "The pay is two hundred dollars per session," I said.

Her expression changed immediately. "Two hundred for a days' work?"

"Not for a day's work," I added, then continued hurriedly as her enthusiasm seemed to drain. "For two hours, or three hours tops." It was actually a bit more than what I was going to pay for today's model, but still well below what an agency would charge.

"A hundred dollars an hour," she murmured, shocked.

"A hundred that IRS has no idea about its existence," I said.

She looked conflicted, and for a moment, I was sure that she was about to accept, but then she spoke once more. "No, I can't," she said, though the conflict was obvious in her tone.

"You can put on a wig, some make-up, and a bit of careful digital retouching later, I can make sure that no one could identify you," I added, trying to break the most likely cause of her unwillingness. Luckily, there was actually a wig in today's set, because the company was obsessive about the hair color of their model.

"Really, no one?" she murmured, making me smile inwardly with the satisfaction of a perfect hit.

"Sure, let me prove you," I said, turned back and started walking. She followed me and soon we were in the basement.

"It looks nice," she said, her attention grabbed by the changes.

"I did my best," I added even as I reached for the clothes pack that was sent by the company, pulling the wig out. For once, their cheapness was helpful for my needs. They were quite peculiar about the hair color they wanted their clothes matched with, but they were not willing to pay enough to actually find a model that had that color naturally or as a die. "Why don't you put that on and walk just in front of the screen, so I could prove just how different I can make you."

She said nothing, but followed my directions nevertheless, which was the important face. Soon, she was cycling through a few basic poses based on my commands. "Good instincts," I said, impressed. She was quite easy to work with, despite the fact that it was the first time she was posing professionally. Not only she was able to follow the commands correctly after a few tries, she also didn't have the undeserved ego the failed models I usually worked with, wasting half of the shoot with their pointless opinions and bickering. "Now let's see just how different we can make you without destroying your beauty," I added, leaving a big blush on her face. A bit of flattery was never amiss.

I worked on the computer silently for a couple of minutes, mostly applying predefined filters and some broad strokes, prioritizing speed over the quality since it was not a final product but just a conceptual sample. "It's so beautiful and foreign," she murmured when I showed her the picture.

"Just foreign," I said, and her expression started to sour until I uttered my next words. "You are already beautiful, we just changed a few details." And just like I expected, she blushed once more, surprising me with the vulnerability she was showing towards even the simplest components. She must have stayed away from the dating scene for a while to take care of her stepdaughters, or the fact that she had daughters scared a lot of guys, like I expected to share the home with a few brats instead of hot twenty-somethings. "So, are you ready to start?"

"I don't know…" she murmured yet again, but this time, I could see that I was close to victory.

"You know, if they like the poses, there is no reason for us to not to work together for the other shootings as well. I'm sure that the extra revenue of a thousand wouldn't hurt."

"A thousand a month?" she repeated in surprise. "Do you think I can earn that much?"

"I don't see a reason not to, you are young, beautiful, and skilled," I repeated. "Why don't you go and try the clothes on the pack. And as an added perk, I'm sure that I could convince the company to gift them to you, including the make-up set they added to keep the color."

"Really," she said with a clear enthusiasm, making me realize that I should have started on that. Women and clothes, I would never understand it. Ironic, considering what I was making my living off. She picked the clothes and went upstairs, ignoring the small section I separated as a makeshift dressing room.

I turned my attention to the set as I waited for her arrival, conducting one last check on the equipment. I wanted everything to be ready before she came back. More time I spent trying to fix things, more time she would have to change her mind, and I didn't want that to happen. I needed this job to be completed without a hitch.

I raised my gaze as I heard the door open, only to see my landlady dressed in a nice dress, a bit tighter than it should be owing to her generous bosom and voluptuous bottom, but it worked even better like that. I was sure the company wouldn't have any problem. I certainly didn't have any. "It looks perfect," I said.

"Really," she said, doubt clear on her words, but nevertheless climbing down the stairs. "Don't you think it's a bit too tight?"

"Nope," I answered without skipping a beat. "It's just perfect. Now, stand in the middle, and give me a relaxed pose." She complied. "Now raise your hand a bit, and give me a bright smile…"

The next half an hour passed in a similar vein until I was able to gather an appropriate amount of decent pictures, a nice surprise. Even with the best estimation, I was expecting it to last more than an hour for the first set, owing for her lack of experience, but that she adapted much better than I had hoped to. She wasn't suddenly a top-tier model, but her ability to emote and pose was more than enough for the third rate website I was working for. More importantly, she followed my every command without any delay.

"Excellent. You're a natural," I said, breaking the flow. "Why don't you take five minutes to rest, maybe drink some fluids, then we can move onto the dress."

"Really!" she asked, her face bright with excitement, acting more like a teenager. "You're not telling me just to make me feel better, right?"

"Certainly not, Nicole," I said, deciding to take the chance to use her first name, testing the closeness that had inevitably built up during the period where she followed my every order.

"It's a relief," she answered, not commenting on my usage of her first name, instead of walking towards the package that was holding the second dress. "Isn't it a bit on the small side," she murmured, raising the dress over her silhouette.

I certainly agreed. It was much more revealing compared to the other dress, but thankfully, not as much as the one that would come after it. I had a feeling that she would have called off the shoot if she saw the other dress, but my luck held true, and her attention was firmly on the second one instead. She disappeared, holding the dress in her hands, only to appear a few minutes more, wrapped tightly in blue fabric. It fitted even better than I had hoped for, the dress hinting everything while leaving the mystery intact.

"Ready? Go back to the screen," I ordered, already looking through her through the camera. I could see that she wasn't completely sure about the dress, so I decided to push her a little. And to my pleasant surprise, she followed it almost automatically.

I was happy to be holding the camera in a way that would block my face, because it hid the sudden predatory smile that bloomed on my face. I noticed that my landlady was displaying several submissive tendencies, so it was like an unexpected gift. Even better, with still two dresses remaining, I had the perfect excuse to test just how far I could push her.

Still, I did nothing out of the ordinary for the first few minutes, allowing her to come to terms with being recorded while wearing a revealing dress, at least to her sensibilities. But her hesitance drained quickly once she bathed under the reflectors, signaling it was finally the time to push forward with the plan.

"Now, turn your back," I ordered, and she did like she had done several times before. The next part, however, was something new. "Now, lean forward like you were about to pick something from a low table." She followed my command, but decided to bend her knees instead of leaning forward. "Knees straight," my voice rang, sharper, more commanding than the usual.

Her body complied automatically, and she leaned forward, the dress riding up, displaying her milky thighs. I pressed the clicker with the full knowledge that I couldn't use that one for the site, as it was much more suggestive than they would be comfortable for such a dress.

The realization passed through her face a second later and she turned, her expression telling that she was about to complain, but I interjected before she could verbalize her grievance. "Good job, now, stand straight, and look to the side with a smile." And just like that, her argument was stalled as she rushed to her new pose.

"Turn towards me and reach towards the ground, your knees bending a bit," I ordered, and she did so. To her defense, she raised her hand to cover the cleavage that would occur in such move. Until my next order, that was. "Press your finger to your lips like you were surprised," I ordered. She tried to bring the hand she was using for the fake reach, but my voice rang commanding. "Keep your right hand in position," I ordered. It wasn't that I shouted, but my tone brokered no argument, demanding obedience. I had a submissive girlfriend when I was in college, and I knew what would work best in that case.

This time, the panicked expression came before the motion, fully aware that she was going to reveal more than she initially intended, but she did nevertheless. She brought her hand to her lips, leaving her cleavage, which would be quite modest if it wasn't for the peculiarity of the pose, revealing a delicious hint of flesh.

I could have let her go up, in the same way a lion that just caught a deer might let her go. Theoretically possible, but not very likely. "I want a bigger smile from you, but without erasing the surprise."

"How?" she murmured.

"Try to imagine yourself in that pose unwittingly, but try to enjoy the feeling that someone is looking down into your dress, captivated by your amazing breasts."

"But-" she started, only to fade when I let the camera fall down a bit, peering into her eyes, my face stern, without inflection. Without saying anything else, she took the pose once more, her lips tugging with a hesitant imitation of a smile.

"Better," I said with a soft tone, rewarding her for her good behavior. "A smile fits your beautiful face much better than a frown." Her smile trembled for a second, but this time, instead of trying to disappear, it was struggling to expand. A second later, the smile won the impromptu contest, spreading on her face. I took several shots even though it wasn't the pose that I had in mind, there was little reason to associate happiness with punishment. "Now, try to add a little mischievousness in that smile," I gently directed her. "Like you are playing a little joke at me."

She did so, causing my pants to go tighter. There was something innately erotic with that particular pose, one that awakened a desire to taste it without delay. Unfortunately, that was not a possibility, at least, not yet. Still, there was no harm in a bit of a preview. "Bring your arms to the side of your breasts, but keep the position stable otherwise," I ordered, and to my surprise, she did so without hesitation, enhancing the view even further. "Excellent," I added. "Now why don't you stand up once more," I added, letting her pull out from that particular revealing pose. I could have pushed further, of course, but there was little point testing her resistance until the third dress, where the real fun was about to begin.

"That's it for this one as well," I said, calling the session for a close.

"Was it as good as the first one," she asked, her face glowing with excitement.

"Even better," I answered. "You have a real talent for modeling. Now, why don't you change for this," I added, passing the dress to her. "Hurry up, we are a bit restricted for time." It was bullshit, of course, as I have informed her earlier that there was no time crunch. But just as I hoped, with the elation of a well-done job, she missed the contradiction with my earlier statement, just as she missed checking the type of the dress she just picked up.

Fifteen minutes passed, a time that was more than enough to change, leaving me worried that she had a change of mind after seeing the dress. But just as I was about to walk to upstairs, to check whether I could convince her, when the door opened, and her head pointed out from the entrance, rest of her body hidden behind the door. "I don't think this dress is the correct size," she murmured.

"Hard for me to comment without seeing," I said, letting just the right amount of annoyance to slip into my tone. She ducked her head in shame, yet appeared in the doorway. She looked amazing with the small black dress around her body, tight and short enough that even a slutty girl would have thought twice before wearing it to a club, and the fact that the dress was sized for someone less curvy than her made things even better. "Why are you waiting there, come down so I can take a good look of you," I added, watched satisfyingly as she climbed down the stairs, the tightness of the dress failing to hide the way her body trembled with each step.

"It seems perfectly okay for me," I said, trying my best to sound clinical, hoping that my arousal was going to be unnoticed. "Stand in the center, we are starting the shoot in a minute."

"But-" she murmured, her complaint aborted by a glare once more, and she took a relaxed pose in the middle of the room. I started, excitement blossoming in my heart. The time for compliance was getting shorter with each order, making me curious that just how far I could push her. Again, I kept my orders strictly limited to the safe poses for a while, until I decided it was the time.

"It's not working," I said, with a sudden sharp tone. "I can see the line of the underwear. Go and remove your panties."

That comment was more than enough to break her silence. "What?" she murmured in shock.

"You need to remove your panties," I repeated, pointing at the small section I sectioned to change clothes. "We can't use the poses where the lines are caressed." She looked like about to argue, even though my sharp tone had drained the fervor her first comment carried. "Hurry up, we need to finish it in a bit." In actuality, we were already finished, the pictures I took were more than appropriate. The rest was just for my personal enjoyment.

It was a delicious view to see her walking towards the curtain of the changing section. Slow, hesitant, blushing, but walking nevertheless. She disappeared behind the fabric, invisible other than the rustling of the curtain. The blush on her face, and the insistent grasp of her fingers around the skirt was the proof for the absence of her panties. I assumed she left them on the rack. But I decided to risk flying closer to the sun. "Why are you still wearing your bra," I said.

"That needs to go as well?" she questioned, only to receive a stiff, unforgiving nod in response. She ducked her head, but walked behind the screen nonetheless.

She was out once more after another round of fumbling, in a visual that would be enough to trigger arousal in a rock. Her tits squeezed by the tight grasp of the chest area, the lines mysteriously alluding to the treasure underneath, her nipples shouting their presence proudly. "Excellent," I said. "You are an amazing model, Nicole," I said, once again rewarding her for her good behavior. "Why don't you walk back to the set so we can continue our business."

She followed my command, once again without a complaint, cycling through the poses, though in every pause, her hands found the hem of the dress, pulling down obsessively to ensure nothing was revealed. I said nothing to prevent it, because that action had a side effect she failed to notice. With each pull, the dress was getting lower, enhancing the cleavage she was sporting. I decided to use it to the maximum effect. "Remember the pose we took with the last dress, where you lean forward, surprised. Do it."

It was a testament of her obedience instinct that she followed my command without even a blink, one of her hands pointing the ground, the other pressing to her lips in a facsimile of naughty surprise, both arms pressing on the sides of her breasts, when combined with the angle, providing the perfect view for my attention. I was tempted to ask her to pull her dress even lower, but I was afraid that the spell would be broken if I push too hard.

Instead, I decided to use some reverse psychology. "Nicole, pull your dress up a bit, you are displaying too much cleavage for the pose." She looked down, only to blush into a painful red when she realized the extent of flesh she was showing. She tried to rise, but I was ready to prevent it. "Don't break the pose," I ordered. She kept the pose, but grabbed and pulled the dress until the cleavage turned downright modest. Just as I planned, I noted as I took a few more pictures. "Now, the same pose, but turn your back to me."

Distracted by the latest realization, she failed to realize just how shorter the skirt had become when she pulled to overcompensate for the cleavage. With the dress riding upwards, I was treated with the perfect view of her pussy, its shining wetness a good confirmation about her particular inclination of following orders. I took a few quick photos before ordering her to stand up for another, more conservative pose. I would have liked to continue in that pose, of course, but unfortunately, it wasn't worth the risk.

"I think we can call it a day," I said with a smile, noticing a discernible expression of disappointment passing through her face. Another sign that I wasn't the only one that enjoyed the proceedings. "You were an amazing model, Nicole, and an absolute delight to work with." I left the camera fixed on the tripod and took a few steps towards her. "Now why don't you give me a hug, it's traditional."

"If it's traditional," she murmured in reticence, standing passively as I walked towards them. Her arms rose, wrapping tight around my shoulder, and I put mine on the small of her back. I would have preferred to slid it under her skirt to molest her poorly covered bottom, but unfortunately, that wasn't a probability. Instead, I focused on the sensation of her breasts pressing against my chest, barely reduced by the soft fabric of the dress. It was a long hug, one that would be awkward if her hold was any looser, but with the mood she was in, it wasn't hard to guess I wasn't the only one enjoying it.

"Anyway," I said as I unwrapped my arms around her. "I need to process the photos, but we can go over them after the dinner, before I sent them out. Would that work for you?" She nodded. "Also," I asked. "I don't have any time to go out for a dinner. It wouldn't be a bother if I joined you for the dinner, right?" I received another nod, then she turned and climbed upwards. In her distracted state, she had managed to miss the effect it would have when she walked upstairs while wearing a short dress made shorter by her fixing, especially since her panties lay forgotten on my impromptu dressing room.

My new tenancy was going to be more fun than I had initially envisioned, I realized as I watched the amazing view my landlady created.